Ten Times Thyself
by Coldpaws
Summary: G1: An improptu post-battle tryst has some unexpected side effects for the young Autobot gestalts. Originally for the lj kink meme. Aerialbots/Protectobots mpreg
1. Chapter I

Title: Ten Times Thyself

Chars/Pairings: Silverbolt, Aerialbots, Hot Spot, Protectobots, Superion, Defensor

Genre: Rating: M/NC-17

Summary: G1: An improptu post-battle tryst has some unexpected side effects for the young Autobot gestalts. Originally for the lj kink meme. Aerialbots/Protectobots

I wrote this for the transformers kink meme on livejournal a while ago, and finally decided to post it here. I'll try to post a new chapter every week or so.

Chapter I

"Decepticons, retreat!" Came Megatron's usual end-battle bellow. Menasor, unsurprisingly, ignored the order and continued trying to duke it out with Superion. Superion, although considerably larger, barely managed to dodge several manic sword swipes while also dodging fellow Autobots on the ground. He tried drop-kicking the crazed gestalt off in the direction of the main Decepticon forces, but Menasor dropped and rolled past him, crushing trees and barely missing a limping Ironhide in the process.

Superion was turning to face his opponent when he heard Menasor cry out in alarm. Defensor had made his way over after Bruticus broke up and fled with the majority of the Decepticons, and had just tackled Menasor to the ground. The two gestalts were now tumbling towards the gorge occupied by the battle-inducing hydroelectric plant.

"Defensor-!" As quickly as his huge mass would allow, Superion strode to the two battling gestalts. Menasor now had Defensor trapped under him, though he was unable to inflict much damage because of Defensor's force field. Superion grabbed the Decepticon combiner by both shoulders and ripped him off his fellow. Superion holding him in the air, Defensor wasted no time and proceeded to deliver several precise shots to the lunatic's limb joints.

Finally, the enemy gestalt broke up, and unsurprisingly, Menasor's individual components had no desire to stick around and face two Autobot combiners. As the Stunticons flew off in the direction of the Nemesis, the Autobot combiners distantly heard Optimus officially call retreat. Most of the Autobots trekked back up toward the main road leading to the power station.

Superion turned to Defensor. His companion seemed about to disassemble, so he reached out an arm and placed his hand on the smaller combiner's shoulder.

"Defensor battled Menasor, my enemy." Superion said. Defensor looked up at him.

"Menasor's my enemy too. Also, he's insane. I wouldn't leave you to fight him alone." Superion rumbled in acknowledgment, then stepped closer. He could feel the unique energy field surrounding Defensor, a shifting, intermingling combination of what he knew the Protectobot's individual fields felt like. He knew subconsciously his own energy field must be the same way, certainly all the Decepticon gestalts' fields were. Of course, theirs, and in particular Menasor's, his nemesis, were usually dyssynchronous and battle charged. Defensor's was fluid, and…calming.

"You defend the Autobots and Humans well." Superion finally responded. Defensor opened his mouth, probably to brush off the complement, but Superion stopped him by bending down and locking his mouth in a kiss. Superion felt the surprise flicker through the other gestalt's field, now largely overlapping his own due to their proximity. However, Defensor made no attempt to break off the kiss, and Superion raised his other hand up to cup his companion's face. After a long moment, they broke apart.

"I want you," Superion said. Superion stared at Defensor. Defensor stared at Superion. Then Defensor hesitantly stepped forward and raised up his right hand. Superion took the hand in his own, and abruptly sat down. Defensor wobbled a bit from the impact, but their connection kept him from getting too unbalanced. Defensor smiled at their new relative positions.

"Well, I think this will work ok, huh?" Superion merely pulled him forward, so that Defensor was standing between his spread legs. This time, Defensor leaned forward and started the kiss. They pressed their chest components together, and Superion wrapped his arms around the smaller. Now their combined energy fields were abuzz with the arousal of all their component parts. When the two sets of five overlapped, the combination was dizzying.

Defensor pulled back from their embrace, his optics off. When he opened them again, their look of pure desire nearly ignited Superion's engines. Defensor reached up and, using Superion's shoulders as leverage, shifted each leg so that he straddled Superion's pelvis. Superion leaned back slowly, and soon they were lying on a berth of crushed vegetation, Defensor draped over Superion's chest.

Superion brought up his knees, and took one hand of Defensor's in each of his own. Defensor bent his head down, resting it gently on the rise of Superion's chest. They both expanded their fields at nearly the same time, in one burst, then drew them in, and press out again…Superion could feel them both synching up, each pulse a little closer to perfect accord. Defensor pulled his cord covers back first with a small gasp, and Superion reciprocated by clicking open his ports. Unfortunately…

"Gotta…" Defensor pulled away and sat up. Superion groaned at the loss of stimulation. But he quickly forgot about that loss as Defensor carefully took the cord from his left leg and plugged it into his own right leg. A jolt of energy shot from the connection straight from his leg to his chest, then, diminished, to his other limbs. Superion clutched at the dirt and trees underneath them, and as Defensor slowly and steadily repeated the process on the other side, carefully inserting the small cord from Groove into Skydive, Superion had to clamp down on the reflex to slam their legs together. With two of their component parts interfaced, their fields pulsing together, Defensor sensually slid back up Superion's body, trailing his hand along his thighs and pelvis as he did so.

Superion grabbed Defensor bodily in retaliation and lifted him up far enough for them to kiss again. Instead of the previous gentle connection, this time their lips smashed together. As they broke apart, Superion nuzzled his face against the top of Defensor's helm, and Defensor brought up one hand to fondle Superion's side vents and transceivers. The light touch on those sensitive appendages felt incredibly good, and Superion tried to reciprocate by working his fingers up into Defensor's shoulder joints and tweaking the wires connecting First Aid and Blades to Hot Spot.

"Oh, Primus!" Defensor spasmed, clutching his vent with the one hand and scrabbling at his chest with the other. Superion continued to work around the outside of the joints with this hands, rubbing, kneading, tweaking, and building up charge. Defensor shakily brought his right arm away from Superion's helm, and knowing both from deduction and those desires bleeding through their connections, Superion also pulled his hands away from Defensor's joints, laying them down along his sides, within Defensor's reach.

Defensor twined the fingers of Blades with those of Slingshot, and his cable almost aggressively leaped out of its casing to plug them together. Shuddering in a haze of pleasure, remaining components vibrating with need, this time Superion pinched Defensor's cable in his hand and worked it into his own port. Only one more to go…Without even leaning apart, both of their chests began to grind open. It was an unusual transformation to make, and one Superion had certainly never done before, but many memories from his components, and now also from the Protectobots, filled him with desire and anticipation.

First Aid/Fireflight wormed in between their chests, and after a battle of wills each began caressing the other gestalt leader's spark casing. Superion playfully explored the Hot Spot's components with his large fingers, and he could feel the air from Defensor's frantically whirling vents flowing over superheated internals in a vain attempt to keep them within normal parameters. Defensor took a slower approach, First Aid expertly caressing Silverbolt's chamber, massaging energon lines, and pricking just the right sensory wires…Superion's spark hardly stood a chance against the medic's knowledge.

The first moment Silverbolt's spark casing opened, they both paused in their ministrations. Superion could feel the hungry passion coming in through the links or maybe from his own components out through the links - by now their fields were fluxing in complete synchronicity, and with four components merging minds, frantically exchanging sensory data and desires, Superion could hardly tell which lusts were his own and which were his lover's.

Then the sound of Hot Spot's spark chamber opening followed. Defensor brought Blades/Slingshot up next to Superion's shoulder bracing himself enough so that Superion could reach in with Fireflight and work the spark cable free from its clip. Compared to the regular interface cables they'd been hooking up with so far, the spark cable felt heavy and hot in his fingers, and from the sensations of his hand and from Defensor he knew it was charged and sensitive. He held the cable gently, moving his thumb over the male jack on the end. Defensor trembled above him.

"Please…!" And Superion knew that was an unabashed and impatient Streetwise coming through. He lowered the cable down into the port on the side of Silverbolt's spark chamber, then quickly, before they both lost it, slammed their uncovered sparks together. Silverbolt's spark met Hot Spot's, and through them the other team members felt each other, and the fit was…different from merging with one's own gestalt mates, but still _wonderful_...

Defensor clamped their hands together, and they both crashed into a cascading overload. First in his chest, Superion's surged out into his limbs and then flooded over the connection into Defensor. Superion distantly felt Defensor's field go haywire against his plating as the smaller gestalt absorbed the charge. The rush shoved Defensor's components over the threshold, and their overload(s) coalesced with Superion's own charge and avalanched through Hot Spot's spark cable back into him.

Superion blacked out.

###############

Silverbolt came online feeling like he'd accidentally shocked himself with one of his own lightening bolts. Then crashed into the side of a volcano. Which was covered with magma. He groaned.

"Looky who finally decided to wakey wakey!" came Air Raid's voice from above him. He on-lined his optics to a bunch of blurry white, red, and blue figures above him. He felt a gentle touch on his shoulder, and turned to see who it was. After rebooting his optics, the smiling (now he could tell!) faceplate of First Aid greeted him.

"Don't be harsh!" First Aid scolded Air Raid, wagging a finger at him. "Silverbolt had to ground a lot of energy from that; if he wasn't built to handle lightning strikes, we wouldn't have been able to do it at all." Silverbolt off-lined his optics again before he could see Blades shove Air Raid. When he on-lined them for the third time, Skydive was standing on his right side, and a positively glowing Hot Spot had replaced First Aid to his left. Grabbing his arms, they managed to heave him up onto his feet.

"Don't worry about everybody," Hot Spot said before he could even ask. "They all woke up before we did, and First Aid's given everyone a clean bill of health. It took us longer to wake up 'cause of energy drain."

"Can we go back to base now? I'm hungry," came Fireflight's voice. Silverbolt rolled his eyes, and Hot Spot chuckled. Silverbolt turned; Fireflight didn't look too anxious to go back to base, curled up with Groove and Streetwise.

/ /Apparently we missed the cuddle session too/ / Hot Spot said to him over private comm..

"Alright Aerialbots," Silverbolt finally said, wearily, "Let's get back to base and cleaned up. Hot Spot and I've probably got a debriefing we're late to anyways… Transform and fly out."


	2. Chapter II

Chapter II

Several days later, Skydive was trying to kill Air Raid while on patrol duty. Unsurprisingly, Slingshot was egging both of them on, Fireflight was whining and pleading for everyone to get along, and Silverbolt had had just about enough drama. As soon as they'd returned from their impromptu romp in the woods, while everyone else had gotten themselves cleaned up in the washracks, Silverbolt had been treated to a cadre of disappointed, frustrated, and amused officers waiting for him to show up so they could debrief and get themselves to the washracks. Glares from a very muddy and ticked Ratchet aside, Prowl had also seen fit to keep him afterwards for a recitation of Autobot policy on punctuality.

Following that, he'd barely had enough energy to grab a cube from the common room to refuel before collapsing onto his berth and passing out. The past few days had been a blur of report writing (one for aerial strategy, one for gestalt), irritating behavior from certain fellow Autobots, and of course the usual futile attempts at reigning in his fellow fliers. Not to mention he hadn't had a chance to see the Protectobots since the mission, let alone talk to Hot Spot – the Protectobots had been called back out to the dam for repair work, and he hadn't had an excuse to return there.

Needless to say, he just wanted patrol to end smoothly so he could get back to the Ark, report nothing exciting, get some fuel, and relax. But Air Raid's growing boredom over the past couple days had apparently reached the tipping point, and he'd decided to take swipes at Skydive to rile him up.

/ /If you come that close one more time, I will blow your tailfin off!/ / Skydive growled over the comm..

/ /I'd like to see you try to hit me if I'm that close!/ / Air Raid nearly cut his engines, and plummeted downwards towards Skydive. Skydive predicted this though, and dropped back while executing a perfect barrel roll. Air Raid pass by him on the right side, then pulled himself level again, swooping off to the side of their patrol route to come around for another pass. Silverbolt could feel Skydive's intense irritation over the bond, and knew that as impulsive as Air Raid was, he wouldn't take heed of the poisonous feeling. Just as it looked as though Air Raid was about to blow past to Skydive's front, Silverbolt gunned his jets and flew in front of Air Raid.

/ /Ai!/ / Air Raid managed to pull away, though damned if it wasn't close.

/ /No more funny business!/ / Silverbolt shouted. / /We are this close to finishing…/ / On second thought, maybe pulling a maneuver like that wasn't the best idea. Silverbolt could feel his energy levels plummeting, and why was the ground above the sky?

Silverbolt came back from the blackout with the frantic screams of his teammates over his comm. and spark. Terror gripped him as he noticed his free-fall, but he shoved it aside, desperately trying to ignite his engines again. He did manage to right himself, and Slingshot and Fireflight came up on his wings. Then, finally, his engines kicked in and he got just enough lift to make a rusty landing in the desert scrub surrounding the Ark.

The others quickly followed suit, and after he'd shakily transformed he was tackled by a frantic Fireflight.

"Get off him you dolt!" Skydive pulled Fireflight away and bent down. "What in the name of Primus was that?" he asked. Silverbolt, drained, just dropped his head back onto the ground and tried to wave him off.

"He probably just couldn't handle a maneuver like that," Slingshot put in sarcastically. "Big jet like that just doesn't have the same sort of ability to accelerate like I would." His face had an expression of scorn and amusement, but Silverbolt knew he was just as terrified as the silent, shocked Air Raid.

"I dunno what happened," Silverbolt said after more pestering from Skydive. "Maybe I haven't been fueling enough, or there's a glitch in my tank, cause my energy levels just plummeted."

"What are reserves at now?" Skydive asked. Silverbolt ran a system inquiry.

"Says they're at about 47%. That should be more than enough for us to get home on." Silverbolt responded, then, grabbing Skydive's hand, helped himself to his pedes. Skydive frowned at him.

"If you think we're letting you fly anywhere after that, you've really got something wrong in the processor," Slingshot commented.

"Yeah! We can, uh, walk back! Right, guys?" Fireflight came up to his right side and took his hand in his own. "It's not very far, and I don't think I've ever seen this area before." That seemed to break some of the tension, as Skydive relaxed from his unusual protective mode and Slingshot rolled his eyes.

"We've flown over this patch of nothing a million times, dope. Have you got the memory of a fly?"

"Yeah, but it's way different from on the ground! You can see the shapes of the rocks and the bushes, and…"

###############

So, for the second time in less than a week, they arrived back to the base late. Windcharger gave their scuffed pedes and dusty paint a curious look from his post at the entrance of the Ark, but merely waved them on in and informing them that Prowl was waiting for their patrol report. They walked in a short ways before Skydive stopped abruptly and turned to face them.

"You three make sure 'Bolt gets to the medbay to get checked out. I'll make the report to Prowl." After emphatic nods from Fireflight and Air Raid, and a less enthusiastic shrug from Slingshot, he strode off in the direction of the command center. Fireflight tugged on the hand he had yet to release, and they trudged along down the other fork towards the domain of Ratchet.

Silverbolt complied without complaint. He hardly wanted a repeat of the paralyzing incident that afternoon, and if this fueling glitch had also caused him to feel so exhausted the past couple days, hey: kill two drones with one swipe, as they say. The medbay doors swooshed open for them, and they hesitantly entered.

"Ah, Ratchet?" he queried, looking around the room.

"What?" Ratchet came out from his office, took one look at the three bedraggled fliers, and glowered. "What have you done to yourselves this time, huh? Alright, which ones is it? Fireflight, Air Raid?" He asked, tromping over.

"Umm, actually, Ratchet…It was me." Ratchet looked like Silverbolt had just told him Optimus Prime was prancing through the halls singing Madonna. Then he shook himself, and with a less intimidating expression, gestured Silverbolt over to an empty berth.

"Not you!" he huffed as the other two Aerialbots moved to follow. "Go get yourselves cleaned up, and don't come back unless I call you or you're dying! I don't need any more contaminant in my medbay." He glared at their filthy pedes.

"But, ah…" Fireflight tried, but Ratchet cut him off with a swat to the abdomen. "Scram!" Air Raid looked at Silverbolt forlornly, and he sent reassurance over the both at them as best he could, shooing with his hands. Once they'd both tromped out, Ratchet turned back to Silverbolt.

"So? What's happened?" Silverbolt resisted the urge to fidget under Ratchet's intense scrutiny. He didn't actually fear Ratchet, unlike some bots he could name…but he hardly had any desire to be cussed out and smacked around either, so he considered healthy respect reasonable. In this instance, honesty seemed the best course.

"Well, we were flying patrol together," he started, stopping to consider how to phrase it, "and there was a little, uh, competition in prowess between Air Raid and Skydive…Long story short, I accelerated to catch up, and after I'd returned to cruising speed my energy levels began to plummet and I, uh," he cleared his vocalizer with a crackle of static, "off-lined momentarily. But I did come back online not too much later, and managed a safe enough landing." Ratchet was studying him, tapping one finger to his chin in a manner Silverbolt had seen humans use. "And I've maybe been feeling unusually tired the last couple days. We thought it might be a fuel processing glitch?" he finished hopefully.

"Sounds like it could be." Ratchet moved to a side cabinet, opened it, then pulled out a couple of different devices the purpose of which Silverbolt could only guess at. "This is gonna hook up to your medical port, give me some basic info on the status of your systems, and I'm gonna hook this up to an energon line in your arm to get my own readings, pressure, mineral composition, energy saturation, the like, in case your own systems aren't reading it right. Lie down lie down!" Silverbolt lay back and allowed Ratchet to administer him. Lying down felt pretty good, now that he thought about it…

"Didn't know I could bore bots into recharge." A growl from Ratchet pulled him back to wakefulness, and he on-lined his optics, not even realizing he'd off-lined them. He forced himself to focus on what Ratchet was doing. What Ratchet was doing was frowning intently at a scanner pad attached to the two cables running into his arm.

"You with me?" Ratchet asked him, looking up from the pad. When he nodded, Ratchet continued,

"Well, at 32%, your energy levels are certainly lower than ideal, but hardly low enough to explain the bouts of unconsciousness. Probably does explain why you've been lethargic, though. Your energon is also lower energy density than I'd expect. I'm gonna put you on a drip just in case your tank or processing systems are the problem, then I need to look under your chassis to see what the nuts is going on." Ratchet moved to his other side to pull the drip lines from the wall, pressing some settings into the comp, even tasting the energon before hooking the line up to one of his external accesses. He then puttered off, presumably to acquire more equipment for whatever came next.

To pass the time, Silverbolt checked his internal chronometer, and realized it was already past 2200 hours; 4th shift had already started. The Aerialbots had arrived back from patrol towards the end of third shift, which meant he'd been in the medbay at least an hour without realizing the time passing. He opened himself up to the gestalt bond, but things felt quiet enough. At a querying prod, all four of his gestalt mates eagerly responded with curiosity, frustration, and the usual squabbles. He belatedly realized they'd been keeping quiet for his sake, but before he could comm. them, Ratchet returned.

"Open up." Ratchet tapped on his chest plate. He obliged. "This thing," Ratchet held up a scanner, "has your readings from your maintenance about a year ago. That way I can get a good idea if anything major is…" he trailed off, staring at the scanner. "I'll be right back." He quickly strode off to the same part of the medbay as before, and moments later returned. He held the scanner over Silverbolt's internals again, and this time his faceplates twisted into a distinct scowl.

"Ratchet to Wheeljack," he said out loud, clearly for Silverbolt's benefit. "_Yes?_" came Wheeljack's voice through Ratchet's comm.. "You need to come down to the medbay. Now." Wheeljack acknowledged, and they waited. Silverbolt admitted to himself he was starting to get a little anxious and nauseous by the way Ratchet was, with bottled fury, adjusting settings on his scanner.

Finally, Wheeljack strolled into the medbay.

"What's the issue?" he asked cheerfully.

"Have you been tinkering with my equipment again? I told you last time to inform me before you attempted any more 'upgrades'." Wheeljack's fins faded from yellow to mauve and his brow creased.

"No, Ratch', you know I wouldn't touch anything in the medbay without telling everyone. What's going on?" He gave a concerned glance to Silverbolt on the berth. Ratchet waved him over, and they moved a few feet away to discuss the malfunctioning tool. Silverbolt let his gaze wander to the ceiling and tried to ignore the way his plating seemed to alternate between hot and cold.

"…obviously wrong…unlikely that…"

"Well…'nother way to…"

"Fine! Fine." Ratchet stalked back over with Wheeljack following behind curiously to stand next to his berth, Wheeljack leaning over his head with Ratchet further down.

"Well kid, we're not quite sure what's goin' on with those things, so Ratch' here's gonna check himself to figure out." Wheeljack gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, then rested his hand there for support.

"Ok," Silverbolt said, "just tell me if I need to do something."

"This is going to sound a little strange, but we _need_ to see, hear?" Ratchet said. Silverbolt just nodded – he trusted the two of them. "Open your spark chamber for me."

That was a surprise, but…Silverbolt dimmed his optics and searched out the commands. When he heard the two of them gasp, he figured he'd managed to get it open even though he wasn't remotely aroused. When he looked again, the their expressions did not help the feeling in his tanks.

"What? What's wrong?" He almost sat up to see, but Wheeljack's hand on his shoulder quickly turned into a solid grip that held him back down.

"Ratch, you ever heard of something like this before?" Wheeljack almost whispered. Ratchet didn't respond for a moment, then,

"Silverbolt, just keep your chamber open for me, alright? And if you feel anything wrong, you tell me right away!" Ratchet's odd behavior was starting to terrify him. Wheeljack kept his left hand on his shoulder, but took his other hand with his right. Ratchet leaned over his chest and stared into it for a long while, then leaned back again.

"Alright, you can close up your chest-plates for now. My shining Primus Silverbolt, what have you been doing?" Ratchet looked very out of his depth, which was an expression Silverbolt had never hoped to see on his faceplate. Silverbolt just shook his head woefully. He had no idea what was wrong, and apparently it was serious, if the reactions of his creators were anything to go by.

Wheeljack and Ratchet shared a meaningful glace. Ratchet laid a hand on his now closed chest plates.

"Silverbolt, you're carrying." Silverbolt just looked at him blankly.

"Carrying what?"

"Sparklings." More blank look. Ratchet was beginning to look frustrated. "Infants. Babies. You've gotten, what's the expression from that drama you all love, 'knocked up'." Silverbolt simply did not have a reaction, and stared at Ratchet in shock.

"What? I don't-I don't understand." He felt numb and awful at the same time. "Wait- babies? More than one baby? M-more than one baby Cybertronian?" Ratchet's optics flickered to Wheeljack before he continued.

"As far as I can tell, yes. I visually counted five juvenile sparklets feeding off of yours. Now, we're going to need-" But Silverbolt wasn't listening. His vision processing was lagging, so that Wheeljack and Ratchet had gone to blocky smears of color, and clearly something had gotten through the bond because he could feel everyone clamoring at him, and, and, -

Silverbolt barely managed to lean over the table in time to eject the contents of his tank all over Wheeljack's legs. Then his vision really did fritz to black, and the last thought he had before he went into stasis lock was, absurdly enough, the image of Donna, from _As the Kitchen Sinks_, hugely pregnant with Gordon's illegitimate twins.


	3. Chapter III

A/N: A special Turkey Day treat for all of you free from work and school! Thanks to SuperNova 42, knocks, Vivienne Granger, GemDragon22, and gillian of arenal for their reviews! And of course thanks to those who've added this story to their alerts and favorites lists.

* * *

Chapter III

Silverbolt came back to consciousness feeling very relaxed. And cozy. When he bothered to delegate the processing power towards it, he felt a hand petting his helm, and a couple pairs holding his hands and stroking them. Then apparently his CPU decided something beside touch might be useful, and he could hear some beeping monitors and murmuring voices.

"Silverbolt, Silverbolt?"

"Fireflight, shh!"

"It's fine, Skydive." Silverbolt slurred out.

"Coming online, is he? Let me in, let me in." By the time Silverbolt on-lined his optics, Ratchet had wormed his way in between Air Raid on his right and whoever continued to pet his head.

"What's going on?" Silverbolt asked blearily. Ratchet was holding a scanner of some sort over his chest plate-oh. His memory cache finally spit out the events right before he passed out. He groaned. "Now I remember…"

"More importantly," Ratchet ignored his question, "how are you feeling? Any queasiness?" Silverbolt considered for a moment.

"No…I feel really calm, actually."

"Good. I'm pretty sure the reason you ejected your tanks," Ratchet gave a snort, "was because I hooked you up to that energy line with regular energon. I changed it to density closer to what your converter had been producing. I've also got you on a mild sedative program to keep you calm. Now, do you want to chat with your brothers a moment before we get into nuts and bolts, or should I just kick them out now?" Silverbolt rolled his head around to get a good look at his gestalt mates (for some reason they seemed to have again dulled the bond). Air Raid on the right hand, Slingshot pacing with crossed arms at his feet trying to feign disinterest, Fireflight on the left side, so that must mean Skydive behind him. Then he just let his gaze rest on the ceiling for a moment. Then he turned to look up at the serious face of Ratchet and said,

"You don't have to kick them out. Just tell me…whatever you need to. I don't really know anything about this." Silverbolt wasn't quite sure, and couldn't spare the care, for how to best phrase it. Ratchet gained a bit of a rueful expression.

"I'm beginning to realize we seemed to have missed an important data download," he said.

"All of you paying attention now?" Ratchet fixed each of the gathered Aerialbots with a stern look. "Short story is: interfacing can make sparklings!" Fireflight innocently raised one hand.

"What's a sparkling?" Ratchet seemed briefly flabbergasted.

"A sparkling is an infant Cybertronian."

"Like a baby!" Fireflight said, pleased with himself.

"Only, metal, I guess?" Air Raid's face clearly showed that trying to imagine this was causing some difficulty. Ratchet was just shaking his head and frowning grimly.

"What this fragging war has lead to…" he muttered darkly. "But yes, a sparkling is comparable to a baby. When you interface with someone, energy can be accumulated and then directed through spark casing cables that when two sparks merge one of them absorbs the excess and then splits into genitor and progeny. Eventually, the genitor's nanites, normally directed towards self-repair, will build from scratch a small body for the new sparklet to reside in." Silverbolt could tell all this was leading towards something very important, but his sedated CPU just couldn't make the connections necessary for him to know what.

"So what you're gettin' to is, Silverbolt's gone and gotten preggers." Slingshot bluntly summarized. He seemed more than disturbed by this. Silverbolt couldn't blame him.

"Yes, that's one way to put it. But there's more we need to discuss." Ratchet regarded him gravely. "Silverbolt, as I said before: you're not just carrying one sparklet. You're carrying five. Normally, I would give you the option of terminating the sparklet if you didn't feel capable of caring for it; this is war, you're young, it would be an understandable decision. Alternatively, the sparklet could be carried for a period and then transferred to Vector Sigma for storage. To activate you all, the Protectobots, and the Dinobots we used sparks brought with us on the Ark taken from Vector Sigma." Here Ratchet paused. His expression grew even more ominous.

"However, when a sparklet is terminated, some amount of damage can be caused to the genitor spark from their connection. You're carrying five sparklets. Do you understand? If I tried to terminate them all, the cumulative damage…I could kill you." The little private room he'd been moved to grew deathly silent. Fireflight fiercely gripped his hand. Silverbolt felt numb fear, but clearly the sedative was having its intended effect, and a distant part of his CPU was telling him that when it wore off his emotional processors were going to have a lot of backlog to work through.

"As you are no doubt also aware," Ratchet continued, "We don't have access to Vector Sigma*, and the probability we'll locate Cybertron by the time the sparklets are ready for transfer is nil. The Ark, in its damaged state, cannot store any more sparks, let alone juveniles. Silverbolt," Ratchet rested a hand on his shoulder, "I'm afraid our best option, for your health and that of the sparklets, is to attempt to carry to term. This could have its own complications, but I've considered and I think it carries the least risk. Is this entering your CPU?" Silverbolt nodded, wide-eyed.

"It's…it's a lot to process." He finally stammered. Ratchet awkwardly pat his shoulder.

"Don't worry Silverbolt!" Fireflight said earnestly, "We'll help however! We'll get you ice cream and pede massages and everything!" Skydive groaned, while Ratchet just shook his head and touched the base of his chevron.

"At least I know I'll have bots looking out for you; I hope this means they'll make you follow my directions. Alright, I think that's enough data dump for one night." Ratchet began unhooking him from the energon feed. "I think you'll be fine off of this, but I am going to keep you overnight for observation. I'm not trying to scare you, but you need to hear it straight. Neither I nor Wheeljack have ever seen something like this before, so I'm going to be keeping a close optic on you, got it?"

"I understand," Silverbolt replied. "I know you'll do your best," he added.

"One last thing. The sparklets, for the moment at least, have remarkably similar resonances, which implies to me that they've all got the same sire. Perhaps they're all even from the same event. I'm not going to force you to tell him, but I am going to suggest you at least tell me who you suspect it to be, so that I can be prepared for any possible congenital complications." Ratchet paused in his ministrations at the almost fearful look the Aerialbots collectively bestowed upon him. Even Slingshot ceased his restless pacing, faceplates slack in dawning realization.

"Ah, Ratchet," began Skydive as smooth as possible. Not particularly smooth, actually. "How old do you think the, uh, sparklets are?" Ratchet considered this, eyeing them warily.

"Very young. Less than an orn, maybe even less than a week. By Primus' spark, if you're all that prolific, it's amazing you haven't been in here before!" Need to remember to give a talk to the other Earth-made bots as well, to prevent any other unforeseen complications. "And energy diverters for all of you before you leave in the morning, rust!"

"What!" Skydive sputtered, "No, Ratchet, it's not that at all. Well, sort of. I mean, usually we just play around with each other, and that hasn't done anything, and, beside the point!" He concluded that side-train. "I just, I think I know who the other sire is."

"Oh? I suppose there are few secrets among gestalts, but it's still up to Silverbolt to tell me." Ratchet responded.

"No, you don't…" Silverbolt started but dropped off quickly. How were they supposed to explain this? "They didn't, they didn't find out peeping when we combined or anything like that. Actually, we _were_ combined." Ratchet expression slowly morphed from deadpan to comprehension.

"Superion...?"

"…and Defensor." Air Raid winced, Fireflight played with his fingers, and Silverbolt couldn't be sure, but the grip Ratchet currently had on the edge of the berth might be trembling.

"Oh, boy." They stood in silence for a while longer, letting everything sink in. Ratchet. His vents let out a huff, he gave a little jerk of the helm, and a characteristic frown returned to his faceplates.

"That probably explains why you're so crowded in there," he quipped. "My advice still stands: You should tell them. First Aid is certainly going to get to know your insides intimately, and they're not stupid. Regardless," he punched some final instructions into the console above his berth, "you should be cycling down to recharge. I would suggest the rest of you go back to quarters to get some real rest in, but I know that's not going to happen, so just make sure you don't drop off in front of the doorway." Ratchet then walked over to said entryway, turning once more before slipping out.

"Recharge, hear?"

* * *

*For the purposes of this fic, Earth bots have had no contact w/ Cybertron.

AN: I know there's a lot of conversations going on, but I like my pregnancies to make as much sense as possible, so some of this stuff just needed to be said. Plus, characterization yes/no?


	4. Chapter IV

Chapter IV

The morning followed with another round of anxious petting by gestalt mates, guzzling down bland, low density energon, checks by Ratchet, an armful of instructional data pads, and strict orders to take it easy while Ratchet consulted the Ark's database for advice.

Air Raid and Skydive had been called on duty for the morning shift, so Silverbolt's entourage back to their quarters in the hangers of the Ark consisted of Slingshot and Fireflight. With Slingshot busy carrying the frighteningly large stack of data pads and glaring at any poor bot that said 'good morning' and Fireflight fretting about, Silverbolt almost wanted to just go straight back to his berth for more recharge.

Finally they reached the perpetually open hanger doors, and as they walked over to the area that had been haphazardly partitioned off for personal quarters Skyfire emerged from his own and waved to them. Slingshot gave him a glance, dumped the data pads on their communal 'coffee table', and continued into his and Air Raid's quarters. Silverbolt rolled his eyes at Slingshot, then waved Skyfire over.

"Good morning." Skyfire said pleasantly.

"Mornin'," Silverbolt said, "You already have your morning ration?"

"I was just about to get it." Skyfire replied. "Would you like to come to the canteen with me?" Silverbolt considered the late morning rush for rations before 2nd shift started.

"I had a ration in the medbay already," he declined, then he remembered, "Fireflight, you should go with him and get a couple rations for you and Slingshot."

"And leave you all alone here?" Fireflight asked with despair.

"Fireflight-" Silverbolt began, exasperated, but Skyfire cut him off.

"Oh that's right, isn't it. I'd heard you all were in the medbay with something," he lifted a hand openly, "If you're not feeling well, I could just grab rations for all of us. Then Fireflight could stay here." Fireflight threw as good a hug as he could around the shuttle's torso.

"Would you really do that? Oh, thank you Skyfire!" Silverbolt and Skyfire chuckled a bit.

"We would really appreciate it." Silverbolt added.

"Don't worry about it!" Skyfire replied. "Alright, I'm off, but I'll be back in a bit." In a few big strides he was out into the main corridor and gone. Well, the morning wasn't starting out so bad, thought Silverbolt. Then Fireflight tugged him over to one of their benches, and he resigned himself to more well-meant fretting. Fireflight plopped himself on the bench, wormed himself up as close under Silverbolt's left side as wings and nosecones would allow, then leaned over and picked up one of the scattered data pads.

"_An Overview of the Procreation System_," he read off, "c_overing such topics as first and second phase symptoms and remedies, spark separation and transference, sparkling delivery, and others._" He cocked his head, "I wonder if sparkling delivery is anything like delivering a baby? First Aid told me this one time he helped a lady have a baby, and it barely fit out the hole, and the lady was gruntin' and screamin' the whole time-"

"I highly doubt it's much alike," Silverbolt commented to cut off that train of thought. "I bet that data pad has some good stuff on it to know, though." He reached over with his right hand to take it, but Fireflight held it out of his reach. "'Flight," he grumbled.

"I wanna know what's going on too!" Fireflight explained, even as their hands continued to play dogfight over the data pad.

"How about I read it aloud?" Silverbolt offered.

"No," Fireflight punctuated this with a poke in the midsection, "You'll just skip over anything bad like off-lining in mid-air so that we won't worry, but then we'll just worry anyways, cause if anything bad does happens it'll come like a bolt out of the blue!" Fireflight gave up the battle over the data pad, turning back to bury his face in Silverbolt's side and throw a half-hug around his front.

"Oh, Silverbolt! It's just such a big, I dunno, whack on the nosecone! When you just faded off comm. like that, and you got all quiet through the bond too, and then started dropping out of the air. I didn't know what to do!" Silverbolt rubbed one hand along Fireflight's side, trying to calm his poor gestalt mate down.

"And then when you're in sickbay you're there way longer than we thought would take, and we all feel you get upset…So we got to medbay as fast as we could, but Wheeljack wouldn't let us in or tell us nothin', then even when Ratchet did let us in he _still_ wouldn't tell us nothin'…" Silverbolt could feel Fireflight heating up next to him, and the panicky fluctuations in his energy field, and knew he had to find a way to reassure (or distract) his flighty brother sooner rather than later.

"I'm sorry I scared you like that," he began, but Fireflight just picked up that train and carried on,

"We did get real scared, even Skydive! But we know it's not your fault." Fireflight traced a finger around one of the central junctions in his abdomen. "I just got so surprised when he said you were pregnant-"

"I believe he said 'carrying'-"

"Can you imagine? I keep trying to imagine little transformer babies and its just, it looks funny? I didn't know we could do that! And now 'cause I was too impulsive we're gonna have to take care of five babies. I don't know how you gotta do that, but I'm pretty sure there's a lot of work-a lot of concentration and knowledge involved. I feel like we can hardly take care of ourselves most of the time, let alone little fragile helpless things…" he finally trailed off. Silverbolt sat there digesting his rush of words, stroking his back and trying not to have a freak-out of his own.

"Wait," something Fireflight had said stuck out in his mind, "do you think this was your fault?" Fireflight didn't say anything, just buried his face against Silverbolt's stomach. "Fireflight, don't think that!" He rocked him back and forth a couple times.

"It wasn't your fault! We were all combined; clearly we all wanted to do it, otherwise we probably would have broken up. Plus, I don't think anyone's to blame for being ignorant. Fireflight…" Silverbolt felt out through their bond, and after some prodding, managed to send along love, and assurance, and with great effort, calm. Fireflight began to relax next to him.

"I know this is all pretty surprising," continued Silverbolt, "I didn't know transformers could be made like humans either. And I know Ratchet said some frightening stuff- but remember, he's Ratchet! With him, and Wheeljack, and First Aid, and all the medics looking out for us, I think everything will be ok." Silverbolt said this with complete conviction. It almost felt like flying- he was glad for the distraction from his own worries.

"And I bet if you read through these data pads, you'll know everything you could ever need to take care of Cybertronian babi- sparklings."

"Did you just say sparklings?" Silverbolt nearly jumped off the bench. Fireflight did jump, and accidentally jabbed his nosecone up into Silverbolt's wing. Silverbolt, wincing, turned to see Skyfire towering above them, several cubes of energon in his hands.

"Ah…" Silverbolt stuttered. Skyfire set three of the cubes down on the coffee table, his eyes flashing over the scattered pads, then settled himself on the bench opposite theirs.

"You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want, I'd understand if it's private," he said quietly. He took a sip from his cube, and with extreme deliberateness, turned to his own data pad. Fireflight fidgeted, and when it became apparent he wasn't going to take a cube for himself, Silverbolt reached out and placed one of them in his hands. Fireflight sat up fully to drink it, and Silverbolt leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Silently, two consumed breakfast and one mulled the situation.

"If it's private now, it won't be for long," Silverbolt said into the quiet, "plus, maybe you've got more experience than we do." He grimaced, "make that almost definitely more than we do." Skyfire gazed at him patiently, setting his pad next to him on the bench.

"The reason we were in the medbay last night was because I off-lined in the middle of flight while on patrol," Skyfire went wide-eyed at this, but Silverbolt didn't stop, "when Ratchet went to check my fuel processing system, he discovered…" Silverbolt shrugged helplessly, "I'm carrying."

"And I suppose from your conversation you've decided not to terminate…?" Skyfire prompted. His expression was open with understanding and compassion. Silverbolt remembered now why he appreciated bunking near the gentle shuttle.

"Well, I don't really have the option. I'm not just carrying one sparkling." Skyfire's mouth drew open in wonder,

"Twins?" he breathed out. Silverbolt held up a hand with his fingers splayed out. Skyfire's face turned from awe to puzzlement.

"I don't," he gestured, "what?"

"Not twins," piped in Fireflight, quietly refueling until this point. "'Bolt's got five little sparkies growing in there." Shocked silence.

"Yeah, after the battle five days ago, you weren't in that one were you? It was pretty usual stuff, except the Decepticons brought along two gestalts. Which so did we, and that's how it happened." By this point Skyfire was looking so flabbergasted Silverbolt considered telling Fireflight to stop, but another part of him knew he should get used to this reaction.

"Yeah, and since we didn't know interfacing makes Cybertronian sparkies, Superion and Defensor interfaced, and now Silverbolt's got a whole bunch of 'em all 'crowded in there' – that's what Ratchet said, anyways." Fireflight finished with a big gulp of his ration.

"I think you mean 'sparklings', not 'sparkies'" Silverbolt corrected to say something. The shell-shocked Skyfire certainly didn't look ready to contribute anything.

"Well, I understand why Ratchet's urging you to at least try carrying them," he finally acknowledged. "But I'm afraid if you want advice on nests or egg-care, I don't have any more hands-on-experience than any other Autobot, although I suppose it's possible I have some hearsay not present in the medical database."

Now it was Silverbolt and Fireflight's turn to stare, bewildered, at Skyfire. Silverbolt heard a rattling sound, and turned to look at the entrance to the rooms. Slingshot stood there, one hand on the doorframe, one over his mouth- when he noticed Silverbolt had discovered his eavesdropping, he gave up completely and nearly fell against the wall laughing. Silverbolt sent him a jolt of disapproval through the bond, without great effect.

"What?" Slingshot threw his arms out, palms up in the universal gesture of 'so?'. "I just imagined you sitting on a giant bird's nest with a bunch of little bitty eggs under yah. It was funny! I'm not the one who made the joke!" He stomped over, swiped his cube off the table, flopped onto the third and final bench, and set his pedes up on the table.

"I wasn't making a joke at Silverbolt's expense," Skyfire said, frowning but mild. "Flight-modeled Cybertronians usually do lay eggs in a nest."

"That's not what Ratchet said," Slingshot threw back smarmily. Silverbolt wanted to kick him in the shin.

"Ratchet said Silverbolt makes the sparklings like how you get repaired, and they come out like human babies, not like birds," Fireflight interjected.

"Yes, that's how ground-based models gestations run, but my understanding is that for sea-transport mechs, and I know for flight-modeled ones, that is not the case."

"Well-"

"Slingshot…" Silverbolt glowered at him, and he backed down. Then he leaned out and rested his servos on the back edge of the bench, letting out a huff of air through his vents.

"Eggs. In a nest." He dropped his chin down to look across at Skyfire. "Please tell me you'll help me explain that to Ratchet."

* * *

A/N: Fin! I know, the P-bots will show up soon, I promise.


	5. Chapter V

A/N: I can't believe I forgot last chapter! Thanks to everyone who has left reviews. I've been enjoying all the speculation! And of course a thank you for the favorites and alerts.

* * *

Chapter V

"So you're telling me everything I have here is useless." The much shorter Ratchet intimidating large mechs such as Skyfire was always a comical sight, but Silverbolt felt humor was an inappropriate emotion for the situation and tried to squash the impulse. Skyfire held his hands up, placating.

"I wouldn't say useless. Everything on first phase should be similar, it's just second phase is pretty different, from my understanding." Ratchet was frowning at his computer access, quickly scrolling through the data he'd accumulated. He sighed loudly.

"I shouldn't be surprised I haven't got the correct information. Most of what the Ark's got to say on the matter of sparklings is 'Don't have them!'" He gave into frustration and smacked the wall next to the comp. "Most of what I know comes from when I first got certification as a medic, and scant interactions with carrying mechs in my pre-war career."

"Most of what I know comes from second hand experience," Skyfire threw out. "In my days before I frequently left Cybertron on exploration missions, I lived across the hall from a couple who acted as couriers. They had several sparklings over the vorns, and I got to experience a few of the peculiarities that come with the process."

"Well, make yourself comfortable," Ratchet pulled a stool up to his console, and indicated Skyfire should do the same. "I'll let Prowl know I've pulled you off duty this shift for my own purposes. You get to tell me every byte of information you can recall, whether it's the carrier's recharge cycle or their preferred brand of paint!"

"Uh, Ratchet? What should I do?" Silverbolt asked. Ratchet's gaze whipped over to him, as though he'd forgotten Silverbolt's presence over the course of his and Skyfire's 'discussion'.

"You can do whatever you like, as long as it doesn't involve sudden bouts of intense energy use. No," Ratchet reconsidered, "You should probably inform Optimus and Prowl you need to be put onto ultra-light on the duty roster for the next few deca-orns; if that changes we'll deal with that bridge when we cross it. Go on, scat!"

Silverbolt took the dismissal and hastened out of the medbay. Only when the medbay doors were closing behind him did he realize what exactly Ratchet's order's entailed. _By the way, Prime_, Silverbolt thought, _Your air commander is out of commission for the next year or so. Why? Oh, well, that's easy to explain_… Realizing that this train of thought was not improving his confidence, Silverbolt forced himself to start walking towards the Prime's office. In a roundabout, meandering way…

After about 40 minutes of wandering the halls of the Ark, Silverbolt felt he'd sufficiently steeled himself for the inevitable conversation with the Prime, and so he found himself standing in front of the bot's office, staring at the door-pad. _C'mon, 'Bolt! It can't be any worse than Ratchet finding out, or telling Skyfire…_ he tried to convince himself.

But the nagging disappointment remained; how could he justify so much time doing essentially nothing when he was in charge of the Autobots' few aerial combatants? Regardless of what his responsibilities were, the situation couldn't be changed. _Got to move with the updrafts and downdrafts sometimes._ Silverbolt reached his hand out to toggle the request to come in.

And was surprised to find the door swooshing open before he'd even touched it. Prowl had almost run into him exiting the room, and Prime looked up curiously at the unexpected silhouette.

"Silverbolt?" his deep baritone queried, "I thought Ratchet took you off duty for the day. Is there something I can do for you?"

"Prime," Prowl interjected, bowing snappily, before moving to exit the office around Silverbolt. Silverbolt stopped him with a touch to the shoulder.

"Actually, Prowl, what I've got to say…You should probably hear it too." Prime waved him in with a servo, and as was usual for their conferences (Silverbolt could not sit in either of the chairs facing the desk), stood up to meet with them.

"Prowl tells me you had a malfunction on patrol yesterday. You seem to be feeling better now," Prime began warmly. He liked to start informal meetings with chat, and though Silverbolt assumed he meant to relax his subordinates, Silverbolt sometimes found it had the opposite effect on himself.

"Actually, what I have to say is related to that incident. My collapse on patrol wasn't caused by a programming glitch or battle wound, but in fact…" Silverbolt trailed off. "Sirs, you may want to be seated for this." Prime waved a hand as if brushing dust off his desk. Prowl flicked one doorwing.

"I'm sure we'll be fine," Prime said.

"But- "

"Silverbolt, please continue." Prowl said firmly, though his expression was bland. Silverbolt geared himself up for it, _Just make the plunge!_

"I'm carrying five sparklets." No reaction. Prowl's doorwings raised up a bit, and the Prime clasped his servos behind his back.

"I should have known something was up from Air Raid's behavior on monitor duty this morning," Prowl began darkly, but Prime cut him off.

"That is a bizarre sort of joke to make." This was different.

"It's not a joke, sirs." Their frowns were not swayed. "I swear! After the battle a few days ago, Superion and Defensor, ah," a pause; Optimus Prime nodded slowly, his optics bright with surprise.

"And that's what Ratchet found in the medbay. Air Raid was probably just distracted over me, sir," he said to Prowl. But Prowl was hardly listening. His face remained impenetrable, but his doorwings were twitching an odd way.

"Prowl?" A blurt of static was all the warning before Prowl collapsed into stasis. Silverbolt lunged but couldn't move quickly enough to catch him before he hit the ground. Prime darted forward as well, and Silverbolt faintly felt a comm. signal, undoubtedly to medbay for assistance.

###############

"Well, it could have been worse," grumbled Slingshot, "they _both_ could've fried their circuits over it." Skydive gave him a shove, nearly overbalancing him off the bench.

"It turned out ok in the end, though," Silverbolt explained, "Optimus seemed pretty ok with the idea of seeing sparklings again. Once we got to the medbay and Prowl came online he went into a nice speech about living life to its fullest and the joy of youth, and some such." The others gave him a look. "It was very inspiring." His gestalt mates nodded indulgently, and refrained from further comment.

"Hey look, it's Streetwise and Groove," said Fireflight. "Hey, you guys!" The two could hardly have missed his enthusiastic waving, and after a quick trip to the energon dispenser and a grab at some unoccupied chairs, came over to join them.

"When did you guys get back from the dam?" Fireflight asked curiously.

"Eh, just this afternoon. We decided to hit the washracks and grab some chow. Blades went to the sparring room, First Aid and Hot Spot are gettin' debriefed," Streetwise answered, along with some questions they hadn't asked yet. "They'll probly be in soon."

"Can we join your game?" asked Groove, and Skydive and Air Raid quickly began bickering over who would join whose team in their little game of Pictionary. Silverbolt decided to abstain for a few rounds, and so Streetwise joined Air Raid and Slingshot and Groove joined Skydive and Fireflight. After the stress of the last past couple days, it was nice to just sit back and allow the chatter of the canteen to wash over him, punctuated by the frantic shouts of his brothers and friends over a silly game…

"Hey sleepyhead," came Hot Spot's voice from above him, and Silverbolt on-lined his optics to an unexpected sight. At some point he'd leaned over on top of Air Raid and entered energy conservation mode; he seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

"Hey," he said back. Hot Spot was frowning at him though, he could tell even through the mask, so he said, "something wrong?"

"I think you know what's wrong," Hot Spot said. "Let's go talk." Hot Spot touched the back of his arm gently, in that way the Protectobots all seemed to have: offering help, but not forcing it. Silverbolt felt a wash of dread sweep over him. This was not how he'd been hoping their first conversation since _the event_ would start. Air Raid's gaze flickered to him, must have given something away through his fields or the bond, but with only a quick pointed look at Hot Spot he turned his attention back to the story Streetwise was excitedly reenacting.

Silverbolt and Hot Spot moved away from their group, altogether the biggest in the canteen, and weaving between the off-duty mechs found a little table in the corner big enough for the both of them. Hot Spot offered him a magenta cube of mid-grade, standard ration; he turned it down with a shake of the head, and Hot Spot 'frowned' deeper.

Hot Spot ignored his own cube and reached his hands to hesitantly clasp one of Silverbolt's in his own. Silverbolt liked that, and the faint feel of Hot Spot's energy field on his fingers was soothing and familiar.

"Silverbolt…" Hot Spot started. Silverbolt clenched his hand into a fist, but didn't pull it away from Hot Spot, either. "I know the Prime puts a lot of responsibility on you, not just your team, but practically all air command too…But still!"

"I'm not sure I-" said Silverbolt nervously, but Hot Spot cut him off.

"You need to take care of yourself better!" blurted Hot Spot. Silverbolt twitched his helm in surprise. This wasn't exactly what he'd been expecting.

"First Aid told me you took a trip to the medbay, and now you're falling asleep and not eating…What's wrong Silverbolt? You know you can tell me anything that's eating your mind." Hot Spot was petting his fist, gazing at him imploringly. Silverbolt felt a smile quirk one corner of his mouth, but while this wasn't as bad as he thought, he knew the moment of truth had arrived. How would Hot Spot react? The rest of the P-bots?

"Well," Hot Spot continued to train those big puppy eyes on him, "The first thing is, it's not bad, exactly." This did little to ease Hot Spot's concern, so he stumbled on, "Re-remember after the battle at the dam a few days ago?"

"Did," Hot Spot jerked back in horror, then flicking his optics around the room briefly, continued in a whisper, "Did we _hurt_ you?" This was turning into a disaster. Silverbolt deliberated a moment, but his impulse won out and he scooted his chair around the little table to sit right up next to Hot Spot.

"No, you guys didn't hurt us or me. And even if you had, I don't think I would mind. I, uh, really enjoyed it. We all did." He couldn't quite say it to Hot Spot's face, staring at their fiddling hands instead. With how they were sitting, Silverbolt hoped Hot Spot could feel his sincerity. He could certainly feel some tumult of emotions curling in Hot Spot's field, though after a few moments of silence it began to calm.

"We really enjoyed it too," Hot Spot said, "we've been thinking about it ever since. The whole time we were doing clean up. Groove kept distracting everyone over the bond by-" Hot Spot cut himself off. Silverbolt snickered at the implication, and soon he felt his amusement mirrored in the tingle of Hot Spot's field, and shortly the two were having a good strong laugh over it. To Silverbolt it seemed like all the stress of the last few days was trying to come out as laughter all at once. Silverbolt even felt some curious pokes from his brothers over the bond, but making eye contact across the room, just shook his head feebly in dismissal.

After their chuckles tapered off, Silverbolt continued, "I don't really know how to say this, so I suppose I'll be straightforward. This will probably be very surprising. Are you ready?" Hot Spot nodded.

"I'm pregnant. Ratchet calls it carrying, but the point is, we're going to have kids." Shock hit through the field like flying into an ice cloud, and Hot Spot stiffened up. Silverbolt gave some time for that to sink in, waiting for the question.

"Kids?" Hot Spot asked quietly.

"Five." Silverbolt said. Hot Spot's field was flickering all over the place.

"Primus." Hot Spot turned, leaning outwards in order to look him in the face. "We're gonna have f-five kids together?" Silverbolt nodded, transfixed as Hot Spot's optics lit up in some overwhelming emotion. "Silverbolt, we're, we're gonna be parents! Shining Primus, we're gonna be parents!" Hot Spot jerked up out of his chair, stumbling over Silverbolt's legs as he tried to make his way to the rest of his gestalt.

"Guys, Silverbolt's pregnant! We're gonna be parents!" He shouted jubilantly to the by now intensely curious attention both his gestalt and the other Aerialbots.

The activity of the entire canteen came to a screeching halt.


	6. Chapter VI

A/N: Yes, an early chapter. I'm going to start posting these more often to try and finish posting it faster. Also, this chapter, much like the first, definitely falls into the M rating for explicit transformer lovin'.

* * *

Chapter VI

Fortunately, after the shocking revelation to most of the crew and subsequent storm of info down the grapevine, life settled back into a semblance of normality. Most of their fellow Autobots had taken the news with cautious optimism, though some had more enthusiasm than others. Silverbolt almost felt bad for Red Alert after the sequence of frightening safety and security he imagined almost sent him into a meltdown; a chat with Inferno seemed to have turned his fears around into renewed zeal for both sparkling-proofing the dilapidated Ark and prevention of infiltration by enemy spies or kidnappers.

The following month passed in a hazy blur of recharge, check-ins, and constant refuel on flavorless low density energon. Ratchet kept reassuring him that once his systems got more accustomed to supporting more than his own spark he should return to more normal energy levels and be able to ingest better fuel, but Silverbolt wasn't holding out hope.

Silverbolt blearily on-lined his optics to a dark ceiling. Shifting slightly to look around, he could feel someone plastered up against one side, and his brief investigation revealed the ceiling belonged to his, Skydive, and Fireflight's quarters. For a moment he wondered what had brought him out of recharge. He looked down at the top of the helm resting on his shoulder joint. He quickly recognized it as Hot Spot's; the past few weeks had also brought about much more interaction between the two gestalts, and while he'd always liked Hot Spot, their newfound compatibility beyond acquaintanceship was…growing on him.

A jolt through the gestalt bond in his spark made him jerk. So that's what woke him up.

"Silverbolt?" Hot Spot whispered, with clarity.

"Oh," Silverbolt allowed him to shift away, "I didn't know you were on-line."

"I just traded out with Fireflight a few minutes ago. It's a little early to be recharging." Silverbolt checked his internal chronometer. Damn, it was early. Hot Spot brought up one hand to rest on his chest, "You want something to drink?" Silverbolt almost groaned at the thought of glugging down more energon, but knew from a few choice experiences not to test his luck.

"It probably wouldn't hurt. Leave the lights low though, huh?" Hot Spot fluidly rolled off the berth to grab one of Silverbolt's specially formulated cubes from a shelving unit, and Silverbolt more slowly dragged himself into a sitting position. Passing the cube over a little clumsily in the dim light of their optics, Hot Spot rested a hand on his shoulder to orient himself before sitting down next to him on the berth.

As he slowly sipped at the energon, basking in the calm presence of Hot Spot beside him. Another wash of hot arousal passed over his spark, and Silverbolt tried not to let it rev up his engine.

While the timing was inconvenient, Silverbolt couldn't really blame his gestalt mates for fooling around. As far as he could tell, they'd hardly groped each other since the revelation of the sparklings. While Silverbolt himself had been too out of it to have any desire at interfacing, he could sympathize that their restraint must be wearing thin.

After a few more moments of drinking and unsuccessfully attempting to ignore feedback on the gestalt bond, Silverbolt decided he'd had enough and leaned over past Hot Spot to place the empty cube on a crowded nightstand.

"Oh, here let me- " Hot Spot started, but Silverbolt was already invested in the motion, and Hot Spot only managed to bring his arms right up around Silverbolt's torso. Pressed up this close next to him, Silverbolt felt the weak flaring of Hot Spot's energy field, and the heat just roiling off of his chassis wafted up onto Silverbolt's own plating.

"_Oh_." Said Silverbolt, breathily. He couldn't quite bring himself to stop leaning over, Hot Spot's shoulder pressed up into his chest, his own arm draped over Hot Spot's front, the utterly intoxicating feel of sharp arousal flitting between them on their fields. "So, uh," Silverbolt licked his lips, "I suppose your gestalt mates are occupied, too?"

Hot Spot chuckled nervously, leaning backwards until his back lay flat on the wide berth. "Yeah, they're, uh, occupying each other. I volunteered to stay with you." He fidgeted, scratching at his abdomen with one hand. "Did you want to go back to sleep?"

"Well," said Silverbolt mildly, "I suppose we could do that." He shifted, bringing one leg up onto the birth so that he could lean over Hot Spot again, "I was thinking- I thought maybe we shouldn't let them have all the fun." Silverbolt watched in the light of his own optics as a smile drew itself up Hot Spot's exposed faceplate.

"I uh," he laughed again, this time with static creeping in, "I think that sounds like a good plan." Silverbolt licked his lips again, then leaned over fully to bring them to Hot Spots. Hot Spot drew him down with hands on his wings, and their glossae tangled heatedly. Silverbolt broke off with a groan as another burst of sensation spilled over the link from his gestalt mates, and he heard Hot Spot's fans turn on below him. The unadulterated arousal pouring into his spark from his mates blurred with the now pulsating field of Hot Spot below him into a deluge of wonderful sensation.

Silverbolt felt his fans clicking on as well, and took their 'breather' to grab Hot Spot's legs with one hand, swing them up on the berth, then lay down on top of him, bracing with his arms to either side of Hot Spot's helm. With optics darkened in passion, Hot Spot wasted no time in reaching up to trace the edges of his wings, his joint seems, and any other sensitive location he could find. Silverbolt reciprocated by using one hand to play with a finial, bending down to graze his lips across sensitive neck cords, nibbling and licking all the way.

This time, Silverbolt had warning, as Hot Spot clutched at his chassis and his field flared out around them, crackling with energy. Barely a moment after he came down from that wonderful sensation, Silverbolt felt it surge through his spark.

"Spot-" he stammered out, but even with the little groping they'd done he was already too worked up, and what came through the gestalt bond was too big. The overload crashed into his systems, energy zipping out from his chest to race through his systems. He bucked his chest downwards onto Hot Spot, his limbs jerked, and his vision blinked out. He came to a moment later, laid out on top of his lover, residual charge sizzling through his plating and circuits. iWell, it has been a while,/i he thought to himself, relaxing a touch.

"Um, Silverbolt? Could you get off me?" came the muffled question.

"Oh Primus, sorry Spot!" Silverbolt rolled off the slightly smaller mech to lie between him and the wall. They lay quietly for a while, but Silverbolt could tell from the twitches and continuing brushes of Hot Spot's field that he hadn't overloaded. Silverbolt checked his energy levels.

"Are you just gonna lay there, or what?" he asked the air. Hot Spot shifted beside him, rolling over, and reached a hand up to his faceplate.

"I wasn't sure if you'd be up to more," he said quietly. Considering the way Hot Spot's field continued to throb next to his own, yeah, he was definitely up for more.

"Well, I'm telling you I am. Besides, we hardly got to _do_ anything. Gestalt mates - always interrupting things." Hot Spot didn't say anything, but he could feel a thread of amusement trickle through the field, and when Hot Spot reached down to grab his hand and bring it up for a kiss, he felt the smile there on his lips. Then he continued, taking each finger into his mouth, caressing it with his tongue; kissing and nipping down the palm, trailing his lips toward his elbow joint. Hot Spot used his other hand to massage at Silverbolt's chest. At first, he merely passed it over the plating, trailing his fingertips gently. But as his mouth moved up Silverbolt's arm, his other hand started pressing and kneading with more urgency.

Silverbolt just dropped his helm back, basking in the attention; his own gestalt mates could be impatient, but apparently Hot Spot had more restraint. Mouth continuing over the shoulder joint, it met up with the hand on his chest-plates. Silverbolt groaned at the utterly relaxing treatment, Hot Spot's other hand joining up as well, and Hot Spot gently massaged, rubbed, kissed, and licked at Silverbolt's plating and seams.

Silverbolt almost didn't even notice his ports whirling open. Apparently Hot Spot did, though, and he began to trace the edges of two on his flanks with his hands, his mouth working at one on his shoulder joint.

"Oh, Hot Spot…" Silverbolt shivered. He laid his hands over the fire truck's for a moment, then clasped his fore arms. "You keep doing that, we're gonna repeat earlier, I think." Hot Spot paused.

"Hmmm…That doesn't sound too bad," he said. Silverbolt mock frowned at him, pinching one arm. Hot Spot obliged, releasing several cables from their casing. "Which first?" he asked, his voiced with a strained note. Silverbolt reached up to the two hanging from Hot Spot's shoulders.

"These can be nice for a build-up," he said conversationally. He took each in a hand, rubbing the male jacks with his fingertips, stroking the cabling, even completely palming one. He watched with a thrill as Hot Spot's mouth dropped open silently, and through their now synced fields felt a buzz of anticipation. He dropped the cords to hand free again.

"On the other hand, these two are thick enough to transfer a lot of charge." He let them hang, but stroked those leading out of Hot Spot's flanks. Hot Spot jerked his hips down futilely. "Which do you want first?"

"_Anything_," he groaned. Silverbolt couldn't wait any longer either, and delicately taking both of the larger jacks in his fingers, jabbed them home into the corresponding ports. Hot Spot groaned again, and Silverbolt gasped at the jolt of charge that passed into his systems. Hot Spot bent his head down to nuzzle Silverbolt's face, his fingers idly stroking the jet's sides. Silverbolt reached up to grope Hot Spot's chest, steadying him.

For a while, they gently rocked forward and back with each exchange of data and energy. Each pulse through their systems ratcheted them up a little more, and soon their energy fields and wires were buzzing with excess energy.

"Can I?" Asked Silverbolt. Hot Spot nodded, optics dark. Silverbolt shakily reached up for the smaller cables, and as quickly as possible clicked them home into his shoulders.

"Oh, 'Bolt" Hot Spot moaned out. Then he grunted, and Silverbolt felt the eerily familiar sensation of passion through a spark bond suffuse across their own linked up systems. He countered with a data packet of his earlier overload, bringing Hot Spot closer, closer…His chest plates split, but he held back from overload. Hot Spot trembled above him, spark exposed, fans gusting at top power, optics dark blue, and he was the most handsome thing Silverbolt had ever seen.

"'Bolt, not gonna last long," he choked out, lowering himself a little.

"I can't," Silverbolt opened his chest plates, leaving his spark covered, "I can't open my spark chamber. Can't get plugged," he gasped out.

"Oh," said Hot Spot, "Ok then." He lowered himself further, grinding their chests together so that his own spark grazed against the outside of Silverbolt's chamber. Silverbolt felt like his spark chamber might burst into flames. The next pulse swap of energy and data included the sensation from Hot Spot's end, the hot metal brushing into his very self, the so close yet so far energies of Silverbolt's spark just out of reach. This time Silverbolt was pretty sure that Hot Spot overloaded first, but with their systems so tightly entwined it hardly mattered. The energy bounced across their cords a few times as they writhed in pleasure, servos clenching, before finally dumping through the links back into Silverbolt.

Silverbolt heard a popping sound as metal cooled. He on-lined his optics, and reached up with one hand to help Hot Spot disentangle them. A sigh as they disconnected and his ports spun shut again.

"Hmmmm…" Hot Spot said, hugging him and nuzzling his neck, "I think our gestalts need to go entertain themselves more often," he continued muzzily. Silverbolt pet the top of Hot Spot's helm.

"Hot Spot, get off. You're living up to your name and boiling me alive," he mumbled. Hot Spot hastily rolled to stretch out next to him so their frames could radiate off the extra heat properly. Silverbolt entwined the fingers of his left hand with Hot Spot's right. "But you're completely right." Hot Spot chuckled and started to say something in return, but Silverbolt didn't hear it. He was out like a light.

###############

Ratchet frowned at him the next morning as he came in for his daily check-up, but gestured over to the diagnostic berth without comment. Right away, anyways.

"As your new paintjob lead me to suspect, you have now completed the first phase of carrying," Silverbolt blushed through his field and opened his mouth to stammer out something, but his escort for the morning spoke more quickly.

"I thought first phase usually lasted at least a minimum of four months, and that was for minibots," said First Aid, petting Silverbolt's hand.

"Ah, technically yes. I meant the first," Ratchet gestured vaguely, "phase of the first phase. The 'adaptive period', as it's sometimes known."

"Oh of course," said First Aid brightly. "That probably explains some things from last night then, huh, Silverbolt?" Silverbolt gave them a helpless expression.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Now your frame has officially acknowledged the sparklets you're carrying. The remainder of the first phase consists of feeding them massive amounts of energy to gain independence from yours," Ratchet gave a wry look to his scratched and red-paint-streaked* chest plates, "Besides ingesting massive amounts of energon, which you're going to skip right past regular to a higher density now, no arguments, the need for more energy often manifests as intense desire to interface."

"Yeah, your drive must have started to bleed through the gestalt bond yesterday, because your brothers practically jumped us," First Aid said jovially. Silverbolt couldn't believe he was so casual in front of Ratchet – his creator _and _his boss. But then what he'd said really sank in.

"I wasn't feeling it much at all yesterday," Silverbolt countered, "maybe a little now, but I wasn't even conscious when, uh, you all got started."

Ratchet stared at him a long moment, then glanced askew to gage First Aid. Of course, his expression was one of innocent confusion. Ratchet sighed and shook his head.

"Don't you just love surprises. Well, Wheeljack and I had a bad feeling this might happen."

"What?" asked Silverbolt, then it dawned on him. "You don't think…"

"Oh yes," said Ratchet acerbically, "your brothers are gonna get a bunch of the same bizarre programming urges you will. Five crazy jets…I suppose now we should be glad there are five Protectobots to go around. Primus!"

* * *

*For the purposes of this fic, Hot Spot is mostly red, with some black and white.

A/N: and, uh, more smut? Finally, eh? Hope you enjoyed! Please leave feedback!


	7. Chapter VII

A/N: Thanks kindly to those who left reviews on the last chapter, and welcome to everyone just joining the story! Wanted to get a little disclaimer that much like the last chapter, this one also definitely falls in the M category. On with the fluff!

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Chapter VII

Silverbolt mentally sighed, enjoying his good fortune while it lasted. After more than two months grounded (first from complete inability to predict when he might drop unconscious at any moment, later from continued mother-henning), returning to the skies was a balm on his frazzled nerves. Most of the Autobots that knew of his aversion to extreme heights confused it with an aversion to flying altogether – they couldn't have been more wrong, and it was mornings like these that made Silverbolt revel that he'd been given a set of wings.

His wing-mates flew around him in a loose formation, with Blades trailing for good measure. They flew at a somewhat low altitude and leisurely pace, both for the sake of Silverbolt and their Protectobot accompaniment. Getting them all out of the base for recreation had been a good idea as well, in Silverbolt's opinion. Although they'd regularly been flying for patrols and a couple skirmishes, he could just feel over the bond a growing, general malaise – cabin fever.

With much pleading to Ratchet, he'd been cleared for a heavily escorted flight, low altitude, within a given radius of the Ark, and with absolutely no energy expenditure (how Ratchet expected this final condition to be satisfied Silverbolt couldn't imagine, but he'd been cleared all the same).

They'd decided to fly southeast into the desert, toward a group of buttes and plateaus that were mainly deserted by humans but they'd visited once or twice before. Enjoy some sunshine on their plating, the warm updrafts that came from flying over hot, summer desert terrain, picnic on some energon…_Couldn't really ask for a better day_, thought Silverbolt.

After another hour or so of weaving towards and around their destination, Skydive realized Silverbolt was starting to lag behind and wouldn't have sufficient lift if he went much slower.

/ /Alright everybody, it looks about lunchtime anyway. Why don't we drop to the southwest side of the butte to cool off in the shade and eat./ / Everyone chirped back their acknowledgements, and Skydive led them down in a graceful dive, skillfully transforming to land standing. Silverbolt followed, and shortly after him came in a flashier fashion Air Raid and Slingshot. Dodging as Fireflight careened around the butte, and finally, Blades descending vertically, kicking up a whirlwind of dust before transforming to root mode and dropping heavily to his feet.

"I call that spot!" shouted Air Raid, which lead to a flurry of wrestling for the best shaped natural back and wing rests. Energon was pulled out and distributed, and they settled in for a relatively quiet lunch.

"I wonder what it's like to be able to fly backwards?" came Fireflight's question out of the blue. His mates gave him confused looks, and Slingshot rolled his eyes and shifted his wings as if to say 'I'm not listening to this'.

"People can't fly backwards, 'Flight," teased Air Raid, "I think maybe you need to work on flying straight _forwards_ first."

"Why're you wondering that?" asked Silverbolt.

"I saw a hummingbird out in front of the Ark a yesterday, they're real tiny but Hound pointed it out to me, and it flew straight forwards and backwards and zipping all over the place! It's wing beat so fast I could hardly tell they were there, and Hound says-"

"Enough of the nature lesson," grumbled Slingshot, "did a hummingbird ever go toe-to-toe with Decepticon jets at mach 4?"

"Have _you_ gone toe-to-toe with Decepticon jets, ever?" Air Raid commented smarmily. Slingshot dropped his emptied cube and looked ready to lean over and tackle the other, but Skydive intervened by thwaking him on the wing first – painful like a slap, but not damaging.

"Guys, come on…" sighed Silverbolt, shaking his head, but it was small bickering, the kind that was soothing in it's normality. "As for flying backwards, I think it's very interesting that hummingbirds can do it," Fireflight beamed, even in the shade, "but I'm not sure what application it would have even if we could do it."

"You do know," Blades interjected, "That_ I_ can fly backwards." The Aerialbots collectively gaped at him. Slingshot frowned.

"That's bull."

"'S not," countered Blades, "I can fly any direction: forwards, backwards, sideways, you name it."

"Oh yeah?" Slingshot jumped to his feet, "prove it, you overgrown lawn mower." Blades swept one leg under himself to follow, but Silverbolt cut them both down. Again.

"Drop it." Both froze at his tone of voice. "We are going to sit here in the shade and cool off. I am going to drink another cube of high-grade. I am not in the mood to indulge your pissing contest." Blades slowly returned his leg to it's outstretched position, and Slingshot had the decency to look put off. The six of them sat in stony silence for all of one minute.

"I still think it's awesome…" said Fireflight poutily. Neglecting even to stand up, he crawled over to sprawl out into Blades lap. "It's 'cause you're a helicopter, right?" He'd apparently decided to side with him in this little tiff. Scowling, but Silverbolt still noticed him petting 'Flight's wings, Blades replied,

"Yeah. Wheeljack said helicopters weren't native to Cybertron, but when they decided to make us, he thought it would be useful. And for rescue operations, gotta tell ya, you've got to be able to maneuver in ways jets just can't. Hovering, for example: every time I load up with humans drownin' or drop off humans without setting down." Blades shrugged. "So that's why."

Silverbolt was watching Skydive, who had a thoughtful look on his faceplates. Slingshot was trying to remain upset, while Air Raid had an expression of mild boredom, gazing up off into the sky.

"I wonder if that would be useful in battle against the Decepticons. Certainly flying in an unexpected direction would be surprising the first few times…" Skydive the strategist trailed off, but his hypothetical train of thought clearly excited Blades.

"That's what I've been sayin'! I keep tellin' Hot Spot to get me on the flight battle roster, but he keeps saying 'I dunno Blades, them Seekers are pretty fast'…Let me at 'em, and they won't even know where my blades came from!" He punctuated the final remark with a swipe of one bladed arm above Fireflight's prone form.

"I'll, uh, ask Optimus to consider it," said Silverbolt. "We'd have to test some strategies before any real battle, of course, but maybe with us suggesting he'll be more amenable."

"You won't regret it," Blades said confidently.

"Oh yes we will," growled Slingshot _sotto voce_. Silverbolt glared at him. Air Raid rolled to one side to look at him blandly, then he turned his attention to the duo of Blades and Fireflight, his mouth slowly creeping into a smirk.

"Dog-pile the copter!" he shouted, and flung himself into Blades' side, his greater mass totally overwhelming the mech and sending him toppling sideways onto the ground. Fireflight squeaked, but rather than trying to flee merely grabbed on more tightly around Blades' middle as Slingshot, and more amiably Skydive, joined the growing pile.

"Oh, come on," goaded Slingshot of all mechs, and Silverbolt couldn't find it in him to say no. Unsurprisingly, dog-pile shortly turned to cuddle pile, and from there it really wasn't a long walk to a 'make-up' pile.

Silverbolt shivered as Skydive worked a seam that aided in the combination process and which they all knew to be particularly sensitive. The smaller jet straddled his right leg, and Slingshot was straddling the other. Along with Fireflight and Air Raid, they'd connived to get him and Blades pressed back to back, and were now proceeding to tease them both crazy. Silverbolt couldn't see what exactly they were doing to Blades, but intermittent spikes of pleasure through the copter's field sent tingles through his sensor net.

Slingshot was mouthing at a hip port, his favorite activity. He kept one hand on Silverbolt's shoulder for stability, and let the other roam along Silverbolt's lower abdomen, caressing seams rubbing plating, and building up a delicious charge. Skydive reached up to bring their mouths together for a steamy kiss, tracing the edges of Silverbolt's face and fondling his vents. Silverbolt moaned into his gestalt mate's mouth, every line of programming screaming _more!_.

A private comm. buzzed between somebody, and then they started: field sync. Slingshot and Skydive both extended, enveloped him in their fields at the same time. As theirs retreated, his own naturally broadened, trying to keep as much overlap as possible. But, due to clever timing, Blades was also trying to stretch out his field (presumably towards the retreating caress of his other two mates), and the two of theirs meshed deeply together.

Blades let out a groan, and Silverbolt felt him lean his head back against his wings. The four jets repeated the extension and contraction of their fields several times, each time pulling their hapless lovers' own fields a littler broader. Silverbolt couldn't think of a time he'd ever had his own field stretched so far and thin, but melding deliciously with so many others'.

Slingshot continued licking and teasing at his ports, until finally Silverbolt didn't want to resist any longer and let them cycle open. Skydive worked at cable housings, prying with deft fingers, and Silverbolt allowed him to open them and draw his shoulder cables out.

"Come on, Blades, please?" Came Fireflight's voice from somewhere behind him, and though he snorted, the heli must have co-operated, from the delighted snicker from Air Raid. Fields all pulsing in tandem now, Silverbolt felt his fans gear up to the next level in preparation for the anticipated joining. Unsurprisingly, he didn't have to wait much longer.

From the surge of pleasure and impressions over the gestalt bond, Silverbolt knew the exact moment the group behind him started to plug together. Backing off a ways, Slingshot and Skydive shared a look. They each reach for the others' cords, then frowned.

"It's my turn to get plugged, Slingshot," grumbled Skydive.

"It is not!" Slingshot reached again for the shoulder cord dangling from the darker jet's right side, but Skydive thwapped his hand away, simultaneously making a grab for the thicker flank cord curled on Slingshot's left hip. Silverbolt wanted to smack them, and from the cessation of sounds behind him, knew his irritation had spread through the group.

"_Guys_…" whined Fireflight, sounding entirely too keyed up. Blades chuckled darkly, the vibrations massaging Silverbolt's wings in the loveliest ways, but still!

"One and one, and get on with it!" Silverbolt commanded. Still, when they finally got hooked together, the sight of the two leaning into the connection, mouths parted, optics bright…_Not a big voyeur, but…_ Skydive always looked especially exotic among all his mates, with his darker coloring contrasting the white of whomever he paired with.

They returned closer again, this time grinding their pelvic plating right up next to his own. Fumbling, Slingshot placed his right shoulder and flank cables into Silverbolt's corresponding ports, and Skydive worked on his left side. Soon the two smaller jets slid the final jacks home into Silverbolt's welcoming accesses, and all shuddered together at the three way data and energy exchange.

Slingshot and Skydive both pulled back their chest armor at the same time, and Silverbolt shortly followed suit. Deciding to let his brothers handle the maneuvering, Silverbolt leaned back into Blades, dropping his hands to the dry earth to the helicopters' sides for support. Watching in a haze as his two mates fondled each others' internals and spark casings, he floated in the ecstasy of their combined experiences and energy pulsing into his own sensory net.

A feeling came over the bond, then – anticipation, desire, curiosity – and Silverbolt felt his gestalt mates open up and harmonize, almost like combining but not quite. He reciprocated the gesture, as Skydive and Slingshot did something totally unexpected (though not quite, the way they were connected, a ghost of an idea before the action) – each gently taking hold of his shoulder cables, fondling them briefly before seductively placing them in their mouths. Small, tantalizing tingles of electricity buzzed from the end of his prongs around their improvised 'ports'.

"Won't this, sort of," Silverbolt broke off as Slingshot swirled a tongue around the jack, "defeat the point?" Skydive shook his head, and though he said nothing, broadcasted out assurance through the bond.

They began to caress his spark plating, alternating leaning forward with their own open sparks - and suddenly a jolt passed through them all, the familiar but dizzying sensation of joining sparks that wasn't your own.

"Skydive, _now_" Slingshot managed to mumble groan around the jack in his mouth, and Skydive obligingly hooked both their spark cables into each other's ports. Silverbolt thrust his own chest forward at the echoed sensation, then the two brought their chests together and Silverbolt was overwhelmed.

The feeling of partial gestalt melding was as intense as ever – not only did the physical pleasure transfer through their three-way cording, but two parts of himself were now one, in some way. Silverbolt momentarily lost his sense of just whose shell he actually belonged in, flying in a whirlwind of pleasure, gestalt bond, Skydive/Slingshot merged, Air Raid/Blades, charge escalating –

Overload hit like a tornado. Slingshot and Skydive convulsed together in his lap, tugging on the jacks that were snuggly hooked into his ports. The massive electromagnetic cloud of their six combined fields stormed around them chaotically, and Silverbolt even felt little sparks of energy jumping along his back plating from Blades. Silverbolt vicariously experienced the torrent of energy that swapped between his smaller companions over their spark cables, thrusting his own chest plating rhythmically, before it finally transferred across into his own systems.

They all came down with a rattle. Blades' helm thunked against his wings. A cloud of dust surrounded them, kicked up by their collective activities. _Thank goodness for filters_, thought Silverbolt, considering the still raging cooling fans of everyone in the group. A few moments later, un-entanglement began, and first to finish Fireflight flopped down onto the ground to the side of the propped together jet and helicopter. Silverbolt couldn't help but wince as Skydive considerately began extracting his cables.

"Are you okay?" he asked. Silverbolt nodded.

"They just got yanked a bit when you two merged – they'll be fine," he tried to dismiss it.

"What?" Fireflight on-lined his optics again, and Air Raid came around their other side with a worried expression.

"Guys-" Silverbolt tried to cut them off, but it had already begun. Each of his gestalt mates inspected each of his four ports, tut-tutting over any superficial damage. Finally, when Blades had the decency to return to the land of the conscious, the helicopter helped him convince the other four that First Aid could take a look at it when they got home and they'd probably be ok in the meantime.

A lazy post-orgasm cuddle session followed, and Silverbolt had almost dozed off when he felt it through their still unusually expressive gestalt bond – Fireflight was pondering something, and any minute now, he was gonna –

"Hey, Blades is a helicopter right? He can fly backwards." Air Raid and Slingshot collectively groaned.

"I think we covered this earlier, 'Flight," said Air Raid without animosity.

"No! I was thinking, what if one of the sparklings is a helicopter?" This innocent remark cut off Slingshot's addition to the conversation. Silverbolt turned his head to look at Blades, whose expression was surprised.

"I hadn't thought of that…" Silverbolt admitted. "I wonder what alt-modes all the sparklings will have?"

"I hope one's a helicopter," said Fireflight. All the jets turned, some pulling themselves up or over comrades, to examine Blades critically, who merely raised an eyebrow back at them.

"Like we really need a little lawn mower crawlin' around," grumbled Slingshot. Blades frowned, but was apparently relaxed enough to give up thought of retort.

"We'll see," said Silverbolt diplomatically. He imagined a little version of Blades, complete with scowl – no denying it was a little cute.

"Could be worse – they could all turn be space-cases like Fireflight. Then we'd need to put those little leashes on 'em like they make for human babies, make sure they don't crash into stuff," cracked Air Raid. Fireflight pouted, but Air Raid hugged him, and Fireflight didn't know how to hold a grudge. Silverbolt imagined five little jets zipping all over the place, miniature versions of his gestalt mates when they'd first on-lined.

To distract himself from the horror, he imagined other possibilities. A little motorbike, placid and thoughtful like Groove. A car, with the curiosity of Streetwise. Then he smiled, thoughts drifting to a different Protectobot.

"I hope one's a fire truck."

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A/N: Yes, this whole flyer orgy was a lead up to contemplation of alt-modes. Plus, more cuddles for everyone! Yaaaay.


	8. Chapter VIII

A/N: Well, apparently some of FF .net's functions weren't working properly or something for the past couple days. I suppose that the glitch caused some reviews to be lost. Of course I know ya'll tried to leave a couple reviews, so why else would the last chapter have none? *wink* I do want to thank those that added this to their alerts and favorites.

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Chapter VIII

The next months seemed to bleed into one another, as slowly Silverbolt found himself more and more dragged down by the energy drain of five extra developing sparks. Not only was he generally exhausted, but his spark chamber had developed an unremitting ache, his chest constantly felt unbearably overheated and sensitive, and to top it off, although his programming was still demanding it, interfacing had become utterly out of the question. Simply put, October found Silverbolt in a foul mood.

Silverbolt rose from a light doze, reaching one hand over his chest plates. Pressing on to the improvised ice-pack he'd taken to keeping near, a large tarp wrapped around many smaller bags of ice, he groped out with his other hand and grabbed onto the nearest shoulder to heave himself up into a seated position on the bench. Hot Spot turned to look at him from the TV show everyone had been enjoying quietly.

"Hey," whispered Hot Spot, "want me to catch you up?" Silverbolt shook his head, knowing it would be a futile effort. In the glow of the view screen, he glanced around the gathered bots – it had certainly increased in size since that afternoon, when he'd first decided that the canteen would be his chosen 'spot' for the day. A collection of minibots all sat to the front, and on the sides sat or stood a number of the other soap regulars.

Silverbolt pressed the slushy tarp harder against his chest plates as his spark (along with several others) began to pulse more rapidly in its chamber. The dark room seemed to press in on him, and he tried to keep his fans calm even as the backs of a couple bots in front of him bumped into his shins. Just as he feared the press of mechs and dark walls might swallow him whole, Hot Spot rested a hand on his arm tenderly.

"You wanna go outside?" he asked. Fireflight was looking up at him worriedly. As a side effect of insufficient flying and increased emotionally volatility, claustrophobia had become a new source of panic attacks. Silverbolt nodded. Hot Spot stood up first, helpfully plowing an easy path towards the exit. Fireflight looked to follow, but a quick comm. of / /No worries, stay here/ / had him sat back onto the vacated bench.

The cool October breeze whooshed over them as they opened the main hanger doors. Silverbolt sighed in relief, off-lining his optics as Hot Spot lead him hand in hand out the main entryway. They walked only a few steps out, enough to exit the wind shelter created by the Ark's ancient thrusters, before sitting down again to enjoy the fresh air. A light drizzle soon had their plating running with small droplets and streams of water.

"I never thought I would ever find a reason to appreciate rain," said Silverbolt jokingly. He tossed the ice pack over to Hot Spot, leaning back to let the cool water run down his chest. A splat sound followed, and Silverbolt snickered – this was not the first time their improvised pack had become a water bomb as it fell apart.

"Rain can be good for lots of things, I'm sure," said Hot Spot optimistically. "It's certainly a lucky break when fighting a forest fire." Placing the tarp aside, Hot Spot sidled up next to his lover. "But I think this is the best use yet. You're gorgeous like that, you know."

Silverbolt turned his head sideways to gaze into Hot Spot's optics. Hot Spot had overlapped the edges of their fields, and his nervousness and honesty tickled at Silverbolt's arm.

"You telling me these things to keep me in a good mood, even as my plating warps from poor heat distribution?" he teased, but he was smiling.

"No!" Hot Spot said wide-eyed. He sat up, reaching a hand to rest on Silverbolt's chest plate. "I mean every word. I think-" but he cut off. "What's that?"

"You can feel that?" Silverbolt had long grown accustomed to the occasional bizarre, jittery feel of several different sparks pulsing out of tune.

"It's – it's sort of a weird disturbance in your field?" ventured Hot Spot. "Whoa!"

"Probably them, they still haven't," Silverbolt let out a spit of static as a particularly unsettling combination of pulses played havoc against his spark, "completely calmed down from earlier. Their little fits are getting longer and longer." Hot Spot considered this for a moment.

"I'm sure it's very uncomfortable in there, but I'm still so amazed…They're alive!" he said with awe. Silverbolt smiled weakly, raising up a hand of his own to rest on Hot Spot's.

"I'm glad someone's enjoying it, cause I gotta say-" Once again the sparklets acted up, cutting Silverbolt off before he'd even gotten started. This time however, they felt like they were trying to surge right out the walls of his chamber, and Silverbolt couldn't mask the grimace from the sensation.

"Anything I can do?" Hot Spot asked, and Silverbolt could only shake his head, still focusing all his attention on willing everything to calm down. His spark chamber had never felt worse, and the pressure on his own spark from the little ones combined with their irregular pulsation caused a sudden rising nausea to grip his tanks. Quickly turning from Hot Spot, he ejected pitifully onto the ground, head swimming and chest throbbing.

"Silverbolt!" came the alarmed call, and a grip secured across his front and on his wing to support him. Finally, an eternity later, the sparklets calmed down again into a synchronized, unperturbed state. Silverbolt on-lined his optics again, just in time to see Ratchet rushing out of the Ark. Silverbolt couldn't muster a greeting, and Ratchet's look only became grimmer.

"All right, think you can stand up?" Nodding, the hefted him to his feet and began the trek to the med-bay.

###############

"Well, I expected it might come to this," said Ratchet gravely. They'd laid Silverbolt out on one of the berths, and after acquiring a new ice-pack, Ratchet had quickly set about diagnosing the problem. Hot Spot held one of Silverbolt's hands with a grip a little too tight for comfort. "The fact of the matter is that there simply isn't enough room in your chamber for much continued growth of the sparklets." Ratchet let them both digest this, walking over to the main entrance of the med-bay to allow several other gestalt members in.

"So, what does that mean?" Silverbolt asked.

"If the sparklets grow too large, a few things might happen. They might simply begin to present too much of a strain on your spark, at which point you or they might start loosing cohesion. They might continue to grow, but with a lack of space, some might meld together or be involuntarily forced into re-absorption with your own – these are all worst case scenarios, but they are not out of the realm of possibility," Ignoring the growing alarm of those listening to his speech, Ratchet continued,

"From Skyfire and some scant literature we know that naturally, once the sparklet began getting close to separation from your own, your ovigenesis pouch would start accumulating materials for an egg, and then after the sparklet separated and transferred to the pouch, nanites would finish construction of the shell for oviposition."

"I'm sensing yet another 'but' coming," said Slingshot gloomily. He and Air Raid, along with Groove, had both the privilege and curse of being off duty. In contrast First Aid's burden, also present for the consultation, was being on duty.

"Because sparklet gestation for someone of your frame type would normally last several months longer…at only 5 months gestation, your chamber has barely begun preparations for the second phase," explained Ratchet. "Fortunately, as I said earlier, we predicted this complication might arise, and we've been working on a solution."

Silverbolt almost wanted to end the conversation right there – _You've got a solution? Everything's going to be fine? I knew I could count on you_, he thought momentarily, but the larger, responsible part of him knew that was out of the question.

"What's the treatment, Ratchet?" he said tiredly. Hot Spot pet his hand in sympathy, while First Aid tut-tutted about as if fretting might make the poor jet feel better.

"We're thinking to artificially jumpstart the process. We think a few infusions of the necessary materials will kick start your nanites into the process of ovigenesis. In the mean time, we're going to carefully monitor the sparklets. Once things have gotten started, we'll probably have to induce early separation – the good news is that despite the excessive energy drain, all the sparklets appear to be quite sizeable and healthy, and I don't think early separation should prove too threatening to their stability." Ratchet gently moved Groove out of the way so he could stand by Silverbolt's side.

"Silverbolt, in theory this should work, but that's the information we have to work on. The other option is careful continued monitoring, and perhaps a diet change with increased mineral additives, which might also jump-start ovigenesis," Ratchet lay a hand on Silverbolt's head. "Do you need time to think about this?"

Silverbolt off-lined his optics, considering. To be honest with himself, Silverbolt had to admit he was pretty ready to be done carrying around so many extra sparks. On the other hand, what was the best option to keep the little ones healthy?

"Silverbolt?" Hot Spot prodded quietly.

"I'm awake," he mumbled, "just thinking."

"Let him think already," growled Slingshot. Silverbolt couldn't tell what he and Air Raid were thinking, even this close – turns out all the little sparklets interfered with the bond – but he also lacked the energy to devote to soothing others' moods, so put them out of his mind. He on-lined his optics again, to find Ratchet still gazing down at him.

"As ever, I'm going to trust you to do the best you know how. Let's do it," he said as firmly as he could muster. He turned to look up at Hot Spot, whose expression was a thin smile.

"Ok, I'm going to boot the extras out so we can get started. Hot Spot, if you want to wait in the hall, please do. You three," Ratchet looked at Slingshot, Air Raid, and Groove, "make yourselves useful elsewhere. If you want, make sure his quarters will be cool when he arrives – his chassis will probably be even more overheated than it has been." With frowns, the four exited the medbay, and Ratchet turned back to his patient and his apprentice.

"First thing's…"

###############

Hot Spot, Silverbolt, and a watchful First Aid made their way out of the belly of the Ark a couple hours later after the procedure. Silverbolt's abdomen felt hot, heavy, and cramped. Anxious about making sure he would have enough constituents for five eggs, Ratchet had filled his elastic ovigenesis pouch with as much matter as possible, and for good measure had given an injection of donor nanites so Silverbolt would have a surplus. He'd then attached monitors to both his chamber and the pouch, so that energy readings could be collected and the progress of the sparks or of any egg construction could to tracked.

"Urgh," Silverbolt groaned, as his other internals compressed to allow more expansion by the pouch. First Aid rubbed his side soothingly.

"Your systems should settle down in a new configuration in a few days. The good news is that this will allow plenty of room for nice, big eggs!" he said optimistically. Silverbolt nodded unenthusiastically in thanks for the thought, as he and Hot Spot, with one of Silverbolt's arms over his shoulder, continued their shuffle towards the Aerialbots' quarters.

First Aid proceeded them across the hanger, past the benches and table which were now basically a mountain of sparkling-care-related objects, typed in the access code to the rooms and stepped through to allow them to follow. Then he abruptly stopped, and nearly walking into him, Silverbolt had a hard time squelching a burst of frustration and annoyance.

"'Aid, what's up? Let us through," said Hot Spot. The little ambulance obliged, but the sight that greeted the pair stopped them in their tracks as well. Hot Spot could only gape in shock – Silverbolt's mind couldn't decide if it was infuriated or overjoyed.

"What…brought this on?" Hot Spot asked diplomatically. The trio of jets glanced at each other.

"Uhhh…" Air Raid said.

"Who cares!" snapped Silverbolt, "just, help me settle down somewhere." Hot Spot nodded, but only continued to gaze in bewilderment at the sudden accumulation of blankets, pillows, mattresses…a huge stack of energon cubes on one berth, the familiar ice-machine relocated onto another, and was that a swimming pool?

Sensing his bewilderment, Silverbolt's gestalt mates swooped in to take over. Slingshot and Air Raid took an arm each (Slingshot none to apologetically displacing Hot Spot), and as they lowered him into the appropriate spot, Fireflight shifted couch pillows and adjusted carpets, the whole while nattering on about everything they'd done so it would be _just right_.

"We got lots of soft squishy things, but then we realized that Ratchet said you'd probably be hot a lot of the time, which soft things usually keep the heat in? Not so good, so we also got some fans and air conditioning units and de-humidifiers, and the rubber pool! If you lay down, we can fill it with ice and put it on your chest – it'll be the best ice-pack yet. And –"

"Fireflight," Hot Spot cut him off, walking around the edge of the main comfy pile, throwing his arms wide to indicate the hoard now filling the room, "where did you get all this stuff? And so quickly?" Air Raid shot him a look of alarm.

"Quickly?" he said sarcastically. "Most of this stuff we've been pickin' up for months!" Hot Spot let out a spit of static.

"But where?" Hot Spot asked.

"Where have you been keeping all of it?" First Aid asked, more with curiosity than shock. He'd trodded in behind, and was now helping Silverbolt get as comfortable as possible. He gestured for Slingshot to bring over some of those fans. Clearly he'd been informed of the inevitable nesting urge, while Hot Spot had somehow missed the memo.

_They actually haven't done a half-bad job_, Silverbolt had to admit, _and now I don't have to worry about it._ This was more of a relief to his programming than he would say aloud.

"Oh, you know, subspace," said Air Raid, though as to the origins of the stuff, he stayed quiet. "Want me to get the ice machine goin'?"

"Please," said Silverbolt, "that pool sounds like the best idea yet."


	9. Chapter IX

Chapter IX

"Make sure you drink up, it'll be good to be topped off beforehand," First Aid warmly reminded, passing over a cube of energon. Ten days had passed since Silverbolt's ovigenesis had been stimulated, and monitoring of his nanites and energy fluctuations suggested quite a bit of material reorganization and fabrication had been taking place. Ratchet had concluded that, given the dangerous prospect of allowing the sparklets to continue to swell within Silverbolt's spark chamber and the good indications coming from his ovigenesis pouch, it was now or never to induce separation.

Silverbolt stared into the soupy violet concoction. On the one hand, removing the increasingly painful sparklets out of his chamber was a relief – on the other, he was about to be submitted to an experimental and probably painful procedure. Needless to say, he was incredibly nervous. The night previous First Aid had resorted to giving him a sedative program so that he could recharge properly, and his nervousness was sending his poor gestalt mates into a frenzy.

All of them, with First Aid and Hot Spot as well, were currently crammed into the incredibly cluttered den that had previously served as Silverbolt's, Skydive's, and Fireflight's quarters. Skydive was attempting to distract himself with an instructional data-pad in the hand not holding his own ration, but Silverbolt noticed the nearly full cube and knew he probably wasn't succeeding. Air Raid had taken to rearranging things on a daily basis, and was in the process of re-organizing sponges, loofahs, towels, and other items associated with bathing little ones by some rule only apparent to himself. As usual, in stressful situations Fireflight became a cuddler, and this morning had plastered himself to the much smaller First Aid's side, undoubtedly hoping the seeming eternal calm of the little ambulance would transfer via a soothing energy field. Slingshot was burning off his nerves by pacing back and forth in the tiny space in front of the door, intermittently exiting the room only to return moments later, jittery fingers tapping thigh plates.

"Silverbolt?" Hot Spot said with a touch of concern in his voice. Silverbolt shook his head, coming back to himself.

"Hmm, sorry? What?"

"I asked if you were feeling ok – you haven't had any energon yet." Silverbolt tipped back the cube of heady stuff, gulping it down.

"My spark chamber is so crowded it feels like little supernovas on the inside, my pouch is so bloated with egg stuff that even by shoving my tank in a place its got no business being I still can't completely close my chest plates, and you're asking if I've got an appetite?" Silverbolt asked miserably. Hot Spot tried to hide his miserable puppy expression by turning to look at his own emptied cube – Silverbolt now got to feel guilty as well as physically miserable.

"Do you want me to rub your sides any? First Aid could maybe try and adjust things in your chest…" Hot Spot offered tentatively.

"Get over here," Silverbolt said, and as Hot Spot kneeled to crawl over next to Silverbolt's spot in the nest, Silverbolt grabbed his arm and arranged him to his liking. Sitting side by side, Hot Spot slightly forward to avoid Silverbolt's wings, Silverbolt hugged the fire truck fiercely. Hot Spot leaned into the hold, then ratcheted up his own internal fans to pull cool air over Silverbolt's frame.

"Sorry I've been so grouchy lately," Silverbolt said quietly. Hot Spot chuckled, and rubbed his helm up against Silverbolt's jaw.

"I think you're allowed to be grumpy when you're pregnant with five kids at once," he said back lightly.

"Still…" Silverbolt just knew he was probably smothering poor Hot Spot in his guilty field, and couldn't bring himself to continue anyways.

"Nope! You feel bad enough physically, you aren't allowed to feel bad about being grumpy. Isn't that right, 'Aid?" Hot Spot had spoken more loudly, pulling in his own gestalt mate into the conversation. First Aid nodded enthusiastically, and Fireflight joined in.

"Nope!" said the jet.

"It's an unwritten rule in the medical bay – in fact, discomfort can be measured in crankiness," First Aid said.

"How can you measure crankiness? What units would you use?" from Skydive, the scholar.

"Crankiness is measured in Ratchets – one Ratchet is how cranky Ratchet is on an average day before having his morning ration," elaborated First Aid. Skydive nodded, expression philosophical. Then Fireflight started giggling, and no one else could keep it in either. The only who didn't end up laughing was Slingshot, but even he had to turn to the wall to hide his amusement.

"Well, I suppose…we should head over." Silverbolt said reluctantly as their brief fit of humor came to an end. He let go of Hot Spot, and the Protectobot, grabbing the edge of a berth, levered himself to his feet. While Hot Spot helped him to his feet, Silverbolt watched, amused, as First Aid convinced Fireflight to also allow the little car free so that he could do his job.

"Skydive?" The ambulance implored another gestalt mate, and obligingly he pried Fireflight off and became substitute soother. Meanwhile, Air Raid came around to fuss at Silverbolt's other side. Slingshot exited the room a final time, let his gaze sweep around the hanger as if waiting for Decepticons in ambush to drop from the ceiling, and they were off.

When they got to the medbay, Ratchet, Wheeljack, and Hoist were waiting for them. Hoist nodded kindly in greeting from where he was fiddling with the monitoring equipment, and Ratchet and Wheeljack looked up from the data pad they'd been consulting.

"We're just double checking the equipment and procedure, guys, so we'll be ready to go in no time," Wheeljack said, fins flashing, then walked over to talk with Hoist.

"You're gonna be over here, Silverbolt, yup, up on the berth," Ratchet waved them over impatiently, and Hot Spot and Air Raid got him situated on the operating berth – more like a beach chair than a bed in this position, really, so that his chest was raised at a small angle.

"All right, know you're not gonna like this, but the lot of you really can't be in here for the procedure," Ratchet addressed his mates.

"No way we're leavin'!" Growled Slingshot, wings raised threateningly. Air Raid and Skydive too had their hackles up, and even Fireflight donned a challenging expression, releasing Skydive's arm to draw himself up. Ratchet shared a look with Wheeljack, who shook his head.

"You can wait right outside the med-bay, guys, and I'll give you updates on how everything's goin' – " Wheeljack started, soothing, moving over slowly and smoothly.

"No, no no no!" Fireflight was shaking his head emphatically, optics flickering between Silverbolt and Wheeljack, who'd been smart enough not to actually come between the berth and the group of flyers. Slingshot merely growled his powerful jet engine in warning. First Aid took back Fireflight's arm, and was petting his wing, as Wheeljack continued to try and mollify the group of anxious and protective future parents.

"Come on now, you don't want to distract Ratchet, right? You can, uh, guard the medbay doors from any possible distractions. And what if another 'bot came in and saw Silverbolt with his chest plates open?" This seemed to redirect the jets genitor programming protectiveness, and Wheeljack boldly moved forward, gently pushing them in the right direction.

"Come on, come on," the inventor come medic come father shuffled his edgy kids towards the exit. Silverbolt knew he should be helping to convince them to leave, but he actually really, emreally/em didn't want to see them go. First Aid, also helping to corral the jets out, was giving meaningful glances to Hot Spot.

"I think I have to go too…" Hot Spot said. Silverbolt just nodded silently. Hot Spot gave his hand one last squeeze, leaning down kiss his faceplate, fidgeted, then resolutely turned and marched out. Clearly sensing his distraught mood, Hoist pat Silverbolt on the arm kindly.

"Cheer up, eh? We'll have you out of here in no time." Silverbolt let his helm fall back to rest against the berth and off-lined his optics.. One of the sparklets did _something_, which set the rest of them off, and he held in a hiss of discomfort, resting a hand on the new, persistent gap between his chest-plates.

"Think it's about time for an anxiolytic?" Hoist calmly asked Ratchet, still petting Silverbolt's arm and feeling the distress in the plane's energy field.

"Get one from cabinet A5, that should be more than strong enough." Silverbolt heard Hoist leave to retrieve the whatever.

"'Bolt?" Silverbolt on-lined his optics again. "We're going to give you another mild sedative, very similar to what First Aid gave you last night. This'll help keep you calm, keep your spark beat regular, and help us to know that any irregularities aren't just emotional upset. Ok?"

"Yeah, ok." Hoist came back with the injector drive.

"Ready?" Silverbolt nodded, holding out an arm. Hoist popped the cap off the little drive, plugged it into a data transfer port, waited for a beep and light change to signal it was done, and then turned back to secure the drive for later use. Silverbolt felt his vents slow down under the influence of the program, as every system toned down and relaxed. Ratchet then moved to hook up several monitors to his arm and side, along with an energon drip, nodding as he watched the screens come to life with Silverbolt's status.

"Good, good…How's the sedative integrating? Any conflicts?" Ratchet looked him in the optics.

"No…getting hot though." Ratchet hmmed, felt a hand against his drowsy vents, hmmed again.

"Wheeljack, turn the environmental controls down another ten degrees for this room, I don't want 'Bolt's internals to overheat. Hoist, let's give him a dose of fresh coolant for good measure." Hoist administered the coolant straight into an abdominal line, and Silverbolt sighed with relief.

"Thanks."

"Of course."

Wheeljack, returned from securing both the door and environmental controls, wheeled over a recently assembled contraption. During the past few days, he'd been working with Perceptor to construct an augmented spark support machine, with five chambers. _Just in case_, Silverbolt reminded himself, _just in case_. Ratchet finished adjusting his monitoring lines as Hoist wheeled over the table with surgery implements.

Ratchet mumbled to himself as he checked his tools, tapping several of them, picking up others for inspection briefly. Then he adjusted the position of the cart to his liking, standing next to the berth, mentally measuring distances. Wheeljack and Hoist took of their own positions, Wheeljack between Ratchet and the spark support machine, Hoist on the other side of the berth with the monitoring equipment and his own set of instruments.

"Ok kiddo, ready to get started?" Wheeljack asked, fins flashing cheerily. Silverbolt gave a little smile, nodded. "Let's get those chest plates retracted and see how's it going."

"Yeah." Silverbolt dropped his hand back to his side, opening his chest plates. The mechanism felt a little weird, his ovigenesis pouch distorting things just enough, but they slid back without any catches. Silverbolt tried to look down, but as always due to his design, seeing into his own chest eluded him. Instead he settled for rested his helm back and letting his eyes rest on Wheeljack's face, the intermittent flash of his head fins hypnotic to his doped up processor.

Ratchet bent forward, checking that the monitoring devices installed before were still functioning and appropriately attached, placing a hand on the pouch. Ratchet's hand felt blessedly cool, and it moved away too quickly for Silverbolt's taste. Then he leaned back and seemed to draw himself together, briefly off-lining his optics.

"Silverbolt, I'm going to go over the procedure one more time for you. In a moment you'll open your chamber, I'll inspect the sparklets' positions and status, and select one to separate. I'll use this tool," Ratchet held up a pronged instrument, "to weaken the thread connecting it to your own spark. Hopefully, the process will continue naturally, and the sparklet will detach from yours on its own, then travel through the port on the bottom of your chamber into the ovigenesis pouch. I could need to complete the separation entirely by hand, or there might be problems with the port opening, or, worst comes to worst, the sparklet might begin to destabilize. If that's the case, I'll remove the sparklet from your chamber and we'll get it on support. This separation might also induce the other sparklets to begin to detach, or I might have to induce them as well. Do you understand what we're going to do?"

"Yes, Ratchet, I understand." Ratchet nodded sharply.

"The dissolution of the connection between your sparks will likely be painful, but this _does not_ necessarily mean something is going wrong, ok? Hoist will be checking in with how you're doing as the surgery progresses, and you tell him any unusual sensations as best you can." Silverbolt looked over at the kindly medic, who nodded reassuringly. "Alright, let's have a look inside."

It took Silverbolt a moment to open his chamber, against every line of programming telling him this was _absolutely unacceptable_, but he finally heard the whirr of parts as the sphere shifted.

"My goodness," said Hoist quietly, "I've certainly never seen anything like it." Ratchet merely frowned, chevron lowering as his brow creased in concentration. He leaned forward over Silverbolt's chest with a thin metal wand, and shortly Silverbolt nearly jumped off the berth as he felt a surprising and uncomfortable prod.

"Just checking if the port cycled open – it hasn't, as you may have guessed. Alright, I'm thinking the big yellowish one first."

"Can you get the angle for that?" from Wheeljack.

"If it'll just – there we go, this'll work." Ratchet replaced the wand and picked up the prong he'd demonstrated earlier. "Ok Silverbolt, you ready? Hoist –" Hoist picked up Silverbolt's hand in his own. Ratchet tested the instrument in the air briefly – some sort of energy field flickered between the two prongs, then disappeared. Silverbolt off-lined his optics and squeezed Hoist's hand as Ratchet lowered the tool into his chest.

"Aah!" Silverbolt couldn't hold in the cry as Ratchet activated the tool again. It felt simultaneously ice cold and burning hot, a moment of agony, and then it was over. Only something felt very wrong, a spot of agony on his spark stretched and weathered, and all the little sparklets were vibrating in shock and fear and pain, and something felt emvery wrong/em. Silverbolt almost brought his left hand up to his chest, but Wheeljack held it against the table.

"Hurts," he gasped out.

"You're doing just fine 'Bolt, just fine." Hoist reassured.

"Pit, it's moved. Other's getting agitated, unsurprising."

"How's the cohesion?" Hoist glanced at a screen.

"Everything reads fine, no destabilizations besides the separation detected."

"Ok, it's come around again, here goes another – " Once again the freezing burning agony tangential to his spark, he felt his whole torso seize up, and it was over.

"Fans, Silverbolt, get your fans going, come now," Hoist's voice gently told him, and he forced them cycling again, with some relief for the burning in his chassis. Loud clangs from some distance away.

"Wheeljack!" from Ratchet. Wheeljack's optics dimmed, and his fins flashed rapidly as he spoke on internal comm.. The strange pinching, stretching, burning sensation continued, and Silverbolt felt something else shift and click.

"Port's open, alright, looks like this one's going to separate on it's own from here on out."

"Ratchet, you might want the CF generator, seems like – " Ratchet quickly dropped the prong and picked up a small, hollow half-sphere.

"What?" Silverbolt croaked.

"The sparklet's separating just fine, but it's trying to come out the open chamber instead of down into your pouch. No worries, that will just generate a field to keep it in." Hoist explained. "How's it feel?"

"Like…someone's reached in with," Silverbolt hissed, "hot pincers…and is pulling off a piece of my spark." He gasped, relieved, as suddenly the pull ceased, leaving behind a relatively mild burn.

"Aaaand it's down into the chamber. Hoist?"

"Reading's looking fine – nanites seem to be responding. Cohesion green." Ratchet continued to watch his chest and Hoist the monitors for several tense moments. When nothing dire happened, he leaned back with a huff of his vents. Wheeljack's fins flashed merrily.

"One down, four to go, Ratch'. Good job 'Bolt, you're doing great."

Ratchet induced another separation, which unfortunately was a little more stubborn. Finally, after four agonizing activations of the disruptor, the pearly sparklet spun off and dropped with gravity down to join its sibling. Then they hit a snag – the remaining three sparklets were not in positions accessible to Ratchet's instrument. Fortunately, after anxiously waiting around a small eternity for one of them to come around his spark, it became unnecessary anyways. Rather than come to the front or side, one dropped to the bottom of his spark and started separating on its own.

"Ratchet?"

"Not me, kid. It's doin' this on its own. This one might take a little longer though, little bluey's not as large."

"I'd call it…periwinkle." Wheeljack joked. Silverbolt snorted through his grimace, and Hoist chuckled. Ratchet rolled his optics, then continued to observe the separation intensely. He was right – it did take longer for this one to pull itself away, with no help and being smaller, but it hurt less as well. The pain came in sharp yanks, brief scorching nips separated by longer periods of dull, achy stretching. A final jolt of pain, and then it was over. Silverbolt stared, unfocused, at the garish orange ceiling of the medbay. Now three big swaths of his spark tingled painfully in the aftermath of separation, and Primus he was never going to want to touch sparks again.

"Not liking how this looks. Hoist, status?"

"Sparklets all green. Pouch heating up quite a bit. Silverbolt's spark is showing unusual spin…pulse rate's a little depressed, but still above the yellow."

"I'll grab a cooling blanket to wrap the pouch," said Wheeljack.

"Looks lopsided from here, seem to be areas of overlapping damage from the separations. Silverbolt?"

"Yeah?" he croaked.

"Next couple separations I want to hear right away if your spark still feels pain afterwards, alright?"

"Ngay."

Orangey was next, and seemed to pop off with hardly any effort at all. Unfortunately, it didn't quite pop off in the right direction, and only a lunge by Ratchet with the containment field kept it from flying off into the room. It buzzed loose in his chamber for a moment or two, then finally succumbed to gravity and dropped. Then the wait for the final sparklet to detach. Silverbolt was ready for this to be over – despite the energy line, he was exhausted, and his spark felt raw and warped.

"Only one more to go," Wheeljack pat his leg. So they waited. And waited. And waited.

"Come on!" groaned Silverbolt. The prolonged exposure of his spark to the open was creating a whole new discomfort, where the side of his spark exposed felt distinctly different from those surrounded by his chamber. Finally, the reddish sparklet meandered down, and sensing Silverbolt was near his limit, Ratchet helped the little one along by activating the disruptor in time with its own pulls.

As soon as it dropped, Silverbolt finally gave in and tried to close his chamber. Unfortunately, the prong was still inside, and Ratchet just barely managed to yank it out before the walls closed in.

"Silverbolt – " Hoist started, but Ratchet cut him off.

"It's fine. 'Bolt, how's your spark feel?"

"Like Grimlock stomped on it," he grumbled. He paused. "Roomy."

"Well, if you can complain like that, I'd say you're doing ok," Ratchet smirked.

"The sparklets seem fine as well. Wonderful job, gentlemechs," commented Hoist. Ratchet pushed his cart out of the way, and Hoist began unhooking some of the monitors.

"Let's leave the internal one on, and keep the energy line in. Silverbolt looks like he's about to crash," commented Ratchet. "'Bolt, you can close your chest plates." Wheeljack held the lines connected to the cooling blanket out of the way as he brought his chest plates together; the gap between them was large enough for the hookups, which he was thankful for.

"Oh, you did such a great job, 'Bolt! I'm so proud!" gushed Wheeljack, taking a hand and petting his helm. Silverbolt just smiled wearily, feeling like he just wanted to melt into the berth.

"Wanna let the guys back in?" he asked quietly.

"Ah, of course, of course." Wheeljack pat his hand one last time, then dropped it to rush over to the doors. He opened them with a whoosh, and a horde of his gestalt mates and the Protectebots poured in. Wheeljack almost got bowled over by Blades, but wisely ducked out of the way.

"He's fine, he's fine!" said Ratchet, partially shouting over the loud inquisitions. "He's about to drop off, so let him enter recharge, already!" They didn't stop asking questions, but once they'd all crowded around his berth, shoved in between monitoring systems and wary of attached lines and cables, they did quiet down some.

"Are you okay?"

"How do you feel?"

"How are the sparklets?"

"Hmmm…" said Silverbolt, his optics already off-lined. "'m fine. Lemme…" and then he fell asleep.


	10. Chapter X

Chapter X

Silverbolt shifted in the nest, twisting his support strut a tad, shrugging his wings, then reluctantly settling down in the nearly the same position as before; the same position he'd been holding for most of the past few weeks. The medics had put him on a strict regimen of bed rest for the final weeks of carrying, and he felt like he was about to go as insane as his gestalt mates. With his chest and abdomen so cramped, things were really starting to get warped out of shape, and the number of positions he found comfortable for any length of time was dwindling.

"It's still your move, Silverbolt."

"Huh? Oh, right." Silverbolt drew his attention back to the tray of letters in front of him (the number of specially ordered board and card games on hand in the Ark having increased phenomenally over his carrying), trying to focus on the game but failing miserably. Silverbolt half-heartedly laid out "pets", for a total of 7 points. His score was updated on his HUD, but rather than drawing new letters, he just continued staring at the board blankly.

"We don't have to play anymore if you don't want to, you know," said Skyfire. Silverbolt looked up to find the larger flyer studying him and not the game. Silverbolt sighed, and shoved the board aside, before carefully sitting up from his sideways leaning position.

"It's not you, Skyfire, it's just…"

"You've been cooped inside for weeks and are in great physical discomfort, along with imminent parenthood?" Skyfire asked, blasé. Silverbolt blinked, then chuckled, before trailing off painfully.

"At least the claustrophobia's gone away, well, mostly," Silverbolt said.

"Programming kicking in then?"

"Oh yeah. I mean the thought of leaving our quarters is actually…" Silverbolt frowned, shaking his head. "I'm just glad the guys haven't been affected as bad. Still able to go on patrol, and still convincible to leave the room so certain shuttles can fit for a visit." He offered a small smile to his larger friend, and Skyfire smiled back.

"Well, now that I'm back from my patrol round the solar system, I'll be glad to visit any time. Sorry I had to be away for so long." Silverbolt waved a hand dismissively.

"We need to keep an eye on the other planets and moons in the system to make sure the Decepticons don't start setting up any space operations, and besides, I know you've been picking up on my slack in the long range department recently…" Skyfire nodded, and they fell into a brief, contemplative silence. Silverbolt's tank and spark casing started to ache from the pressure and pull of his pouch in his sat-up position, and he reluctantly started rearranging cushions to lie down again.

"Want some help with that?" Skyfire offered, leaning forward.

"Sure, I'm just gonna try lying on my back…" The two of them fussed around with the cushions, and then Skyfire helped Silverbolt gently lower himself down onto them and fix them around his wings. After settling in Silverbolt grabbed the cooling blanket's lines still hanging out of his chest plates, frustratedly picking them from where they'd gotten caught on a vent and shoving them out of the way.

"Been overheating? It seems pretty cool in here," Skyfire said, recognizing the machine the coolant lines were attached to.

"Yeah, well, the forging of the eggs makes a lot of excess heat, and now that I'm so cramped my main fans have jammed," Skyfire positively grimaced, "so even though they installed an air conditioning unit my internals were still overheating a lot, so…" he gestured vaguely into the air, leaning his head back and off-lining his optics.

"Before you take a flight to dreamland, you comfortable?"

"Mmmmostly."

"Are you _still_ going to be comfortable when you wake up?" Skyfire asked, a smile in his voice. Silverbolt thought a moment before answering.

"It'll do." Silverbolt fell offline to the quiet pattering of his friend putting away their game and tidying up as best he could the chaos of the Aerialbot's quarters.

He came online to the shriek of sirens and claxons announcing attack by the Decepticons. The occupants of the room had changed as well, with most of his gestalt mates frozen, optics flickering as they listened to reports of the attack and troop assignments.

"What's going on?" asked Silverbolt. Part of being off duty included no access to that particular comm. channel (for stress reduction purposes, according to Ratchet, though Silverbolt could hardly see how being ignorant of the level of danger was supposed to make him feel better).

"The Decepticons have decided to hit several nuclear plants in the SE simultaneously – we're being sent out as escort and air support against the seekers." Skydive gave a brief sitrep. He signaled, and he and Air Raid swiftly moved towards the doorway. Fireflight lingered, fretting and turning near the doorway, until Silverbolt told him he should go help his brothers.

The door cycled shut, and Silverbolt lay quietly in the semi-darkness made by a forgotten computer screen for some time. These moments were always the worst – knowing his family was in battle, in danger, but being completely unable to help them in any way. Something in the pouch shifted, and now he could tell one of the eggs was pressed up against the bottom of his spark casing where the pouch connected. Groaning, he rolled onto his side, sat up and propped himself up with an arm on the couch in an attempt to ease the pressure.

It helped, and he fell back into a doze, though with all the recharge he'd been getting recently powering down fully again was difficult. Not to mention the spikes of emotion and pain coming through the gestalt bond keeping him awake. He gripped the couch as a particularly intense wave of pain rolled through him, before it cut off abruptly and left him heaving through his functioning vent. _That didn't seem like it came through the gestalt bond…_ Silverbolt thought to himself, sitting up further in an attempt to relieve the pressure and crampin…

_Oh._ The fact that he was in labor hit him like a ton of bricks, and for a moment all he could think was a detached _of course, how could I have not noticed right away_ and _I should comm. Ratchet and let him know to come over here_. And then he remembered precisely where Ratchet was probably located, and then another painful contraction of his ovigenesis pouch momentarily cut off any other thoughts.

When he came back to his senses, Silverbolt tried to think rationally. Even if most of the crew was gone on a mission, the Ark was hardly going to be left abandoned or the medbay unstaffed.

/ /Silverbolt to the medbay, come in/ / he said briefly.

/ /This medbay. What you need?/ / came the reply. Silverbolt had a sinking feeling.

/ /Swoop? Who's in charge of the medbay right now?/ /

/ /Grawk, Swoop is. What you call for?/ / Silverbolt took a moment to convince himself that Swoop was a perfectly qualified medical technician and that Ratchet would not have put him in charge of the medbay without complete faith in his abilities before answering.

/ /Swoop, I think I'm in labor./ / A pause.

/ /Him Silverbolt lay eggs now?/ /

/ /Yes. Maybe./ / Another contraction, this time accompanied by both upwards pressure and painful pulling at the locations the pouch attached to his frame, particularly the bottom of his spark case. / /Probably definitely./ /

/ /Me Swoop come there./ / Several minutes later, Silverbolt got the request ping for someone at the door, and he opened it. Swoop activated the full lights, leaving Silverbolt blinking, but seemed momentarily unsure of where to step. Making up his mind, he simply plotted a straight course and kneeled down next to the jet, pulling out a scanner.

"You Silverbolt turn out from couch now, or I plug scanner into arm. Which you want?" Silverbolt offered up his medical access port, and Swoop plugged in the scanner, watching the readout intently. Silverbolt clenched both his fists and hiked his wings back momentarily as another contraction hit, and on-lined his optics to Swoop nodding slowly.

"Yes, me Swoop think you definitely in labor. I comm. Ratchet for advice. Everything is okay," Swoop said reassuringly. Silverbolt waited, panting and trying in vain to shift around the massive cramp his entire torso had become.

"Him Ratchet say to check how big is pouch exit."

"Ok, how do you do that?"

"Pouch exit next to spark chamber. You turn –" Swoop hefted under one of his arms, and they got Silverbolt facing outwards, leaning back against the couch. Swoop gestured for him to open his chest plates, and Silverbolt obliged. The cooling blanket was quickly removed and set aside.

"Me Swoop see it. Yes, right here," Silverbolt felt a scrape of a finger against his spark chamber, and a tug, presumably on the opening of the ovigenesis pouch. "Too small right now." Swoop flicked his hand, and from subspace produced a flashlight and a servo-sized mirror. "You want see?"

Silverbolt nodded, and through adjustments to the angle of mirror and flashlight got perhaps the only view he'd ever had of the bottom of his spark chamber. Where the pouch had originally attached in a ring around the bottom of the chamber, around the port the sparklets had passed through, a small tear had formed at the 'seam'. The area had a little lubricant that had leaked out, though with him sitting up for most of the past few minutes, not a whole lot.

"The eggs…are going to come out there?" Silverbolt asked breathlessly and incredulously.

"Hmm…" Swoop turned his head into the call for a moment. "Him Ratchet say it tear away more, then stretch more, then eggs come out. This same way as for live birth Cybertronian."

"So, what do we do?" Silverbolt had never felt more out of his depth in his entire life.

"Us wait. You want stay there or move around?" Silverbolt considered. Another contraction hit the pouch, and now that he knew what was happening he could feel a little more of the rim get torn away from his spark chamber. Swoop obligingly let him hold his hand to ride it out, and when it finished he realized what he really wanted was for the Decepticons to take a vacation and for his gestalt mates, the P-bots, and Ratchet to show up and make this all over with.

"I'm gonna comm. Ratchet, I think," he said aloud. Swoop didn't seem too affronted, though Silverbolt had never been good at reading the smaller flier, and he turned his head to focus on the comm. conversation.

/ /Ratchet, this is Silverbolt./ .

/ /Silverbolt! Swoop's given me the sitrep. Is something else wrong?/ /

/ /No…/ / Silverbolt didn't know what to say, how to convey to Ratchet the overwhelming need to just have someone familiar at this moment. How could he explain the breach of protocol? / /I'm not sure what to do while waiting for, you know-/ /

/ /Whatever's comfortable. It'll probably be a few hours, so you'll move around some. Look, 'Bolt, Omega's nearly arrived at the drop site. Swoop will handle everything until First Aid or I can make it back to the Ark, okay?/ /

/ /Of course./ / Silverbolt felt chagrined for a moment.

/ /Hang in there kiddo, you'll be fine./ / Fortunately, Ratchet dispelled his worries. / /Ratchet out./ /

The hours passed, with periodic updates about the battle coming via Swoop via Blaster, and of course the impressions he picked up through the gestalt bond. Apparently the Decepticons had adopted an unusual tactic of circling between just enough power plants to keep the Autobots spread thin, although now that Skyfire had had enough time to catch up with reinforcements it shouldn't last too much longer.

Silverbolt used the battle updates to distract himself from the increasingly painful stretching and contracting of his ovigenesis pouch. Swoop had helped him to alternately stand and lean against the wall, lean over a cluttered desk, lie down on his side, and simply move around enough to prevent too much strain from building up in any given position. Finally, Silverbolt felt compelled, and had arrived at his current position on hands and knees, hands in fists and pressed tight together, forehead resting there, trying not to curl in on himself too much with each contraction. By now his pouch and chest plates, reflexively trapped open, were covered in hot lubricant, dripping down into a puddle below him.

"You do good, me Swoop see first egg," Swoop offered encouragement.

"Wait, wh-what?" Not thinking straight, Silverbolt leaned back and looked down at the mirror placed for Swoop's view of his internals. Of course, by moving he couldn't see it anyways, and after a moment of panic and frustration another contraction hit anyway. He grit his teeth against the painful sensation of the egg pressing against the exit. Dimly, he felt Swoop gently grab his arms and lean him forward again. The contraction ended, and Silverbolt groaned into his fists.

"No, Swoop, I can't –"

"Everything okay. You Silverbolt want something? Programming say want something? You tell Swoop." Swoop held an ice pack to the back of his neck, a shocking comfort.

"Everything is _not_ okay!" Silverbolt practically whined. "How soon is the battle gonna be _done_? I want," he took a break to gasp, vents desperately trying to cool him down, "I want my _family_, I want –" Another contraction hit and he choked, rocking back and forth with the pain. This whole time he'd resisted feeling for his gestalt for fear of distracting them at a key moment in battle, but finally his will had been ground down and he desperately reached out to them.

The pouch relaxed, and he was suddenly swamped by panic, frantic probes into his well-being from his brothers. They were not so far away that he couldn't feel them, but the who and much of the strength of the inquiries was lost. Swoop was bringing his chin up, looking into his optics and asking him questions rapid fire, but he wasn't paying much attention, sorry, leave a message; much more invested in the gestalt bond than the cramped little quarters. He opened himself up to it, searching out, trying to draw them in, almost like combining but not quite – but they were too far away. Suddenly their end of the bond quieted, not all at once but one by one his sense of his brothers dropped away, leaving Silverbolt reaching towards an almost void. Silverbolt wanted to cry.

/ /Silverbolt? 'Bolt, please, respond!/ / The comm. message jerked Silverbolt back to the physical world.

/ /Hot Spot?/ / he asked, dazed.

/ /Oh thank Primus!/ / the comm. went quiet a few moments. Silverbolt noticed Swoop had laid him down, propped up on one side and was frantically inspecting his internals and his monitored vitals. Another contraction hit, and Silverbolt jerked his hand out, grabbing Swoop's fiercely for the duration – it seemed to last forever, and the new position was not comfortable at all.

/ /Silverbolt, you just hang on, okay? We're coming back to the Ark in Omega, okay? 'Bolt?/ /

/ /Who's coming back to the Ark? What?/ /

/It's okay, all the Aerialbots, and me and 'Aid are gonna be there in just a couple hours, okay?/

/ /'Spot…/ /

/ /Silverbolt?/ / came First Aid's voice over the connection,/ /You need to follow your programming now, okay? Swoop's sent me and Ratchet the data, and the eggs are ready to be laid./ /

/ /No, I want, I want Skydive n Slingshot n –/ /

/ /Hey, they're coming, okay? We're coming./ / Hot Spot reassured.

/ /Don't worry Silverbolt, we'll be there before you've even finished, but you _can't wait_ ~/ / First Aid continued for a moment, but Silverbolt was distracted by yet another cramp, dizzying, he buried his head in the crook of his arm.

"You Silverbolt need sit up now!" Swoop implored him after it ended, placing one hand around his upper arm and one down across his wings. Silverbolt wanted to shake his head, keep protesting that _this was not right_, but with Hot Spot murmuring encouragement through the comm. he found himself nodding instead. Swoop counted, and on three heaved him up back onto his knees and forearms. Silverbolt dropped his head back down onto them, and Primus he couldn't care less he had his aft stuck up in the air.

"'Nother cramp come now, okay, ready–" Swoop said, hand on the back of his helm, and boy did it come. This contraction hit him like Ramjet's nosecone, and the pressure against both the not-quite-big-enough exit and the bottom of his spark casing was agonizing. Silverbolt came down, only to discover he'd ejected the meager contents of his tanks all over his arms. He stared at the partially processed energon dumbly, venting harshly.

/ /Hey, 'Bolt, that one's over, you're doing good,/ / Hot Spot said, while Swoop mopped up the mess with a cleaning towel. / /First Aid says to keep your aft high and your spark low and gravity'll do all the work for ya, easy peasy./ / Silverbolt coughed a laugh.

/ /It feels like Bruticus is punching his way out of my chest up through my chamber./ / He said.

/ /Bruticus? Phh, you can handle him./ / Hot Spot replied.

/ /Where are you?/ / Silverbolt asked, full of emotion.

/ /We're just passing over Tennessee. Don't worry, in Omega it should just be a couple hours. Oh, First Aid says another should be –/ / The time delay for relay caught up with them, and another contraction wrenched through him. Silverbolt arched his back strut as much as he could, so much so the hot lubricants now felt like they were dripping 'upwards' over his spark chamber. He could feel the exit stretch further, and pressure pressure pressure and then it stopped, though the burn of the stretch didn't leave, nor did all the force on his chamber dissipate.

"This one almost out, I see and scanner say. Here, you want feel?"

"What?" Silverbolt said through gasps, but allowed Swoop to hold him up, guiding his right hand back from where it had supported his weight to the center of his chest. It landed on something hot, smooth, and lubricated. Swoop helped him feel around the edge, one side where it was crammed up next to his chamber, the other where it stretched the pouch exit.

/ /Primus, Hot Spot, I'm about to lay an egg./ / Silverbolt said, dumbfounded. Swoop arranged his arm back for support just in time, and perhaps the most painful moment of his life so far hit him, he could feel the bulge of the egg being forced out, scraping despite the lubricant, the whole area felt like it was on fire, and suddenly it glided easier, slid free and plopped onto the ground below him. A moment passed wherein Silverbolt only had the energy to adjust to the new looseness, a nauseating reshuffle of the remaining eggs, and nothing else.

/ /Good job, 'Bolt./ / Silverbolt couldn't care how Hot Spot knew he'd succeeded, but the pure praise and joy in his voice worked a smile onto his face.

"You Silverbolt want rest bit now?"

"Yes, but I wanna," Silverbolt forced himself up from his crouched over position, and Primus just getting onto his palms was an effort, to look at the egg. Swoop helped him sit back on his aft and lean against the couch. Silverbolt stared at the egg. What he'd thought might've been as large as Grimlock's head was really only about the size of one his fists, maybe a bit larger than his own spark chamber. It was a dull grey, though still covered in a shimmering mix of lubricant and energon. Impulsively, Silverbolt reached over to pick it up and cradle it, rolling it over, feeling the entire surface.

"It's not…hard." He said, a quaver in his voice. Swoop nodded, distracted with his ministrations in Silverbolt's chest. He was taking the opportunity to check for tears in the pouch exit or excessive damage to the chamber, as well as sopping up lubricant and temporarily reapplying the cooling blanket. The cold numbed some of the sting, and Silverbolt sighed in relief.

/ /Don't worry, it's supposed to be a little flexible./ / First Aid's voice. / /It should harden very quickly – it reacts with the atmosphere, and Earth's is much denser than Cybertron's./ /

/ /Oh./ / Silverbolt said intelligently.

/ /What's it look like, 'Bolt?/ / Silverbolt could hear the intense but restrained curiosity in Hot Spot's voice.

/ /It's grey./ / He started. / /Not as big as I thought it would be. Not shaped like a chicken egg./ / Hot Spot laughed. / /Where are you?/ / He asked, more calmly this time.

/ /Let me check./ / a pause. / /Somewhere over Kansas or Nebraska. Not quite midway over the continent./ / Silverbolt nodded to himself dully. His spark chamber ached, and more importantly, his spark ached. He just wanted them to get here already. He could feel his ovigenesis pouch tightening up; not contracting, but shoving everything upwards. It wasn't very comfortable.

"Swoop, I think the eggs left are not in a good position," he said aloud. Swoop felt around through the cold blanket and the pouch, letting out a couple quiet squawks to himself.

"Eggs can't get out with Silverbolt sitting this way. What you 'Aid think we do?" Swoop said into the comm.

/ /Silverbolt, do you think you could go back to the position from before?/ / Silverbolt considered. Then he remembered he was a mechanical being, and his arms couldn't get tired.

/ /Yeah, but I'm getting low on energy…/ /

"Me Swoop go get equipment to hook up with energon line, that okay?" Silverbolt nodded. "You Silverbolt stay here, tell him First Aid if something wrong. I be quick." 'Bolt nodded again, and after Swoop had left and he'd reverently placed the newborn egg aside, he slowly turned to face the couch and bury his chest and face in the cushions.

He must have dozed, because it really did seem like no time at all before Swoop was back and attaching a drip-line to his arm, and just a reboot of his optics and he found himself crouched over again, aft high and chest low. Now he could definitely tell something wasn't quite right with the remaining eggs.

"I still think something isn't positioned right," he said, looking up at Swoop. The Dinobot reached under his side to feel and then pass a scanner over.

"Egg try come out is turned sideways. Me Swoop fix – Silverbolt must be still!" Silverbolt nodded, and locked his joints, stiffening in preparation. It actually wasn't as bad as he'd feared – there was still a little extra room to maneuver, and the pouch _was_ flexible. Swoop just nudged it and the next tightening of the pouch did most of the work. Silverbolt's processor flashed an image of nudging Fireflight away from a crash, and a rush of humor, love, and loneliness hit him. A thought occurred to him, in this pause before the next egg started emerging.

/ /Why haven't any of the other guys been joining in to the conversation? I didn't make them get hurt, did I?/ / he sent to 'Spot and 'Aid.

/ /They are all fine. No major injuries. Don't worry about them, okay, Silverbolt? Just focus on what you need to do./ / First Aid reassured, though it didn't really answer his question.

/ /First Aid's got them all in hand, they're just, ah, resting/ / sent Hot Spot. Silverbolt wanted to get a straighter answer, but apparently his break was over and instead he grunted with the force of the next contraction. It had not dialed back down to the originally intensity, but instead hit him with the same strength as those near the end of the last birth.

"Oh boy," he gasped when it finished. Swoop pat his wing and, without any erotic overtones, massaged the area around the newly emerging egg.

"This one smaller. Be much faster me Swoop think." Silverbolt nodded, though Swoop could hardly be expected to see it, with his face hidden between his arms. It only took a few contractions before Swoop informed him it was nearly over. Hot Spot and First Aid also continued to pepper him with encouragements, until finally another contraction came and he could tell, could feel the egg pass the peak circumference and shluck out. This time he'd turned his head down, looking back towards his legs, and had actually _seen_ the tip of the egg hanging down for a moment before it dropped, watched it fall to rest underneath him. He stared at it, panting, feeling once again the strange sensation of all three remaining eggs shifting.

Touching his left wing-tip to the ground for balance and support, he reached down towards the egg with his right hand a brought it up for inspection. It was also mostly a dull grey, though it had a mottled darker, charcoal patch, and like Swoop had said was noticeably smaller than the first one. Hand trembling with fatigue, he passed it off to Swoop, who placed it with its sibling.

Silverbolt decided slag to moving and flopped forward into the cushion of the nest. His abdomen ended up in a somewhat disgusting puddle of lubricant, but he really couldn't care less.

/ /Never again./ /

/ /What?/ / said Hot Spot, sounding mildly distracted.

/ /We are never doing _that_ again. _I_ am never doing _this_ again./ / he said slowly.

/ /Whatever you say, Silverbolt. You're doing great though, y'know. Only three left, and we're gonna be there any minute, Omega says we're passing over Idaho now./ / Silverbolt groaned, realizing he mathmatically wasn't even halfway done yet.

Swoop asked if he wanted to be cleaned up any, but Silverbolt just waved him off with a flick of the wing. Instead the Dinobot readjusted the energon drip and added another bag, then sensing the concord wanted a little space puttered off. Silverbolt drifted in a painful haze, interrupted by bouts of shrinkage on the part of the ovigenesis pouch. He squirmed into the nest with another cramp, and knowing instinctively that the brief interlude had come to an end, got himself back into position.

A full contraction came and went, and now the third egg was truly in position. Fortunately the way had been paved before it, and Silverbolt could feel steady progress for the next several contractions. By now the pain had settled in and he was becoming used to the constant tension, so with each contraction he merely grunted, arching and grinding into them, Swoop occasionally reminding him to at least try to keep his internals cool.

Then they hit a snag. The next contraction hit, and Silverbolt again felt the intense, stinging pain of the pouch exit stretching further, and more compression against his spark chamber than even the first egg, and then it stopped. Silverbolt vented, off-lining his optics. Another contraction, more burning strain, and his poor chamber _oh Primus let it just crush my spark already_. Several more agonizing contractions later, and Silverbolt was wondering just what the hell was taking so long.

"Primus fuck it come out already!" He half yelled, half wheezed. A gasp came from the doorway, and Silverbolt on-lined his optics in surprise, lifting his head to see who it was. None other than Hot Spot and First Aid were rushing over, Hot Spot to fling himself down and plant a kiss directly on Silverbolt's lips. Silverbolt melted into it, oh, / /So glad you're _h /ere_/. In reply Hot Spot said nothing, merely broke the kiss and threw his arms around Silverbolt as best he could.

A contraction ripped through their reunion, and even though having Hot Spot and 'Aid nearby helped him emotionally, it did nothing for the physical pain of the largest egg yet being shoved out of his chest.

"'Aid, can't you do anything for him?" came Hot Spot's worried request now that he'd actually seen the state of the exhausted jet. Silverbolt sensed more than saw the ambulance shake his head.

"Anything I gave for the pain might either cause him to loose consciousness or the contractions to loose strength. You're doing well, though, Silverbolt, this one's just particularly large. Ah, thanks Swoop."

"Me Swoop leave you now, but you let me come see all eggs later, right?" The larger of the two medics said.

"Yeah," croaked Silverbolt, "later. Thanks, Swoop." The pterosaur transformer pat his back one last time and vacated the room. First Aid indicated for Hot Spot to move to kneel in front of Silverbolt so he could occupy the spot by his side. As another contraction rippled through him, Hot Spot placed both his hands in Silverbolt's to be squeezed, and First Aid felt the progress of the egg.

"Well, from the readings Swoop gave me I can tell this one hasn't been making much progress. I'm going to try pushing some on the next cramp, okay?" Silverbolt gave muffled assent, and when the current zipped through the pouch to contract it First Aid placed his hand 'under' the back end of the egg and gently pressed it forward in time. Unfortunately, because there were two other eggs taking up the back end of the pouch, First Aid wasn't pressing at quite the right angle. Silverbolt let out a cry of pain as all the pressure of the contraction, rather than directed towards the exit, was redirected almost straight up into his spark chamber.

"Oh, Silverbolt, you alright?" First Aid had ceased instantly, but waited for the entire contraction to pass before asking. Silverbolt, through tears, stutteringly explained the pain he'd felt, and everyone agreed not to try that assistance technique again. Instead the two Protectobots essentially replaced Swoop, and eventually even this large egg was forced through a much enlarged exit. After having caught it, First Aid almost took it away to place it with the others before Silverbolt almost panicked. Hot Spot helped him to visually and tactilely examine it, perhaps a bit less than twice the size of the others and a slightly paler shade of grey, and then it was allowed to be placed away at a safe distance.

The break before the fourth egg started emerging was brief, but fortunately it was nowhere near as large, and as First Aid had originally suggested gravity almost made it practically slide right out. By the fifth and final egg, Silverbolt had gone numb from exhaustion to the contractions, the stretching, the pressure on the side of his spark chamber, everything. His arms were numb from having been locked in the same unusual position for so long, his back strut too protested to arching and force of the contractions using it as a base, and he couldn't even remember what it felt like to have his chest plates closed. A contraction would hit, his frame would stiffen, hands would pet his helm or shoulders or wing, it would fade to a dull ache and moments later would repeat.

"Almost there Silverbolt, you're almost across the finish line, just hang in there –" a stream of motivation flowed, whispered, from Hot Spot's vocalizer to his ear. A contraction came, the egg wedged through the gap and escaped. Silverbolt trembled to hold himself up. First Aid retrieved the egg, and Hot Spot helped Silverbolt roll over to lie on his back. Silverbolt watched, detached, as First Aid set the final mid-sized egg in his cupped hands, before setting about sopping up as much of the fluid filling the jet's chest cavity as possible.

"All right, you're good enough for now. Want to close your chest plates?" First Aid suggested. Silverbolt tried activating the mechanism, but his whole chest felt stiff, numb, and he soon realized completely locked into place.

"That's alright, it should unlock within a few hours," First Aid said.

"You did it, 'Bolt! Here, I'm gonna help you up to see them all," Hot Spot interjected.

"Gnnnooo…" Silverbolt groaned without enthusiasm, but each bot got a grip on his shoulders and together all three of them managed to get him briefly vertical, just long enough to drop him a few meters over in a different part of the nest of the room. This jolted Silverbolt back to himself, and he leaned over to place the final egg with the others, then sat back against Hot Spot's chest to marvel at all of them, whole and _real_ in front of him.

"Do you want to lie down and get some recharge?" Hot Spot murmured over his shoulder.

"I –" his vocalizer fritzed with static, he couldn't seem to get any words out through his sluggish processor and overwhelmed spark. Instead his mouth bobbed open and shut, and he just shook his head. A moment later he said, "I can't believe it. We're all gonna be parents." They sat there together a few moments while First Aid cleaned up, Silverbolt contemplating his swiftly arriving new responsibilities. Imagining spending time with cute little jets or cars, teaching to walk and talk (or whatever they needed teaching, he hadn't gotten to those data pads yet), playing with them…_It doesn't sound so bad after all_ Silverbolt thought to himself.

Just as he was about to doze off into Hot Spot's comforting hold, spark casing aching with pain but spark itself suffused with warmth, Silverbolt jolted back awake at a flash of fear swiftly followed by overwhelming anxiety.

"What, what is it?"

"Gestalt," was all Silverbolt managed to say before the door to the hanger flew open and four frantic jets tumbled over themselves to get inside. First Aid almost did a suicide dive to prevent them from crashing into the two seated mechs in the crowded room (or, horror of horrors, the _eggs_) and shortly they were all packed in and snuggling Silverbolt and wondering over their offspring.

"Oh Primus Silverbolt when you called out to us it was terrifying I'm sorry we weren't here –" Fireflight was speed talking, carefully glomped onto one side. Skydive and Slingshot had taken up kneeling positions, glancing back and forth between him and the eggs, and Air Raid occupied his other side, head laid on Silverbolt's lap.

"It's okay, you guys, it's okay," Silverbolt shushed them. "I am curious though, I felt you at first, but then you all went quiet. What happened? What took you so long to come over here?" The other Aerialbots went quiet, and then Fireflight mumbled something.

"What? You had to be _sedated_?" At first he felt shock, then a wave of guilt through the nearly completely open gestalt bond, and finally when he disentangled himself irritation. "_Resting_ my aft, Hot Spot, you could have just told me."

"Don't blame him," said Skydive, "we really did flip out when you reached out for us. Hot Spot managed to get the gist of the problem from one of us, hard to tell who, and then Ratchet ordered us sedated and shipped back here." The four jets drew closer to their leader, surrounding him with brief remorse they couldn't have been there for the whole thing and then merely the great calm and satisfaction that came from seeing a difficult but worthwhile hurdle overcome. Silverbolt almost had the urge to combine with them all right there, but the physical proximity would suffice, and he was beginning to realize he really needed to recharge.

Eventually, after the other jets had also had a chance to feel the eggs, hold them close to their own sparks for the first times, the five jets and two vehicles settled down into a ring around them and prepared for recharge after a long, long night and morning. Lying on his back with Hot Spot on one side and Fireflight curled on the other, Silverbolt had finally quieted his mind enough from the events the past hours to enter recharge, a ping came over the room's comm..

Slingshot heaved himself up to go answer it. Silverbolt could hear the unmistakable voice of Optimus Prime say something, though not what, and then the unprintable reply by Slingshot, ending with "tomorrow, sir," and the click of the comm. unit being deactivated. Slingshot trudged back to their pile and flopped down next to First Aid.

Silverbolt knew he should reprimand Slingshot for being so disrespectful to their Prime of all people. He really should. But he would follow Slingshot's lead on one thing: tomorrow.

* * *

A/N: This is officially the final chapter! Only have some epilogue bits left to go; no worries if you actually want to meet the bitlets.


	11. Epilogues

Epilogues

The next morning Ratchet came by for a check-up, with three Protectobots and a Prime in tow. Groove and Streetwise proceeded to fawn over the clutch just as much as any of the Aerialbots had, while Blades merely eyed them critically. Optimus managed to cut Silverbolt off before he could stick his foot in his mouth trying to apologize for Slingshot's transgression the previous evening, merely saying,

"I'm sure yesterday was a stressful one on many accounts," with the usual fatherly twinkle in his optics. "I'm glad to see that you are recovering well from your ordeal, Silverbolt – but do not worry about returning to active duty as soon as possible. We will be awaiting the day you are fully recovered. And of course, the day we get to meet the little ones optic to optic."

###############

"Are they the right temperature? Did you check the thermometer in the nest? Remember to keep turning – "

"Yeah yeah yeah, 'Bolt, we know. They're fine! Shoo!" Streetwise practically had to shove him out the door into the hanger. A couple weeks after laying the eggs, and Silverbolt was finally back in good condition. Not perfect, but some things took time.

"Ready to go, 'Bolt?" Fireflight asked him excitedly, ailerons twitching. Silverbolt walked out in front, then folded down into his alt mode.

/ /Ready/ / The five jets' engines roared to life, and moments later all that remained was dust and clouds.

###############

"Can't we just – "

"You know what Ratchet said, Hot Spot, we're not supposed to interfere!" First Aid chastised. Hot Spot wanted to argue again, but another clang drew his attention back to the egg. Just a few days prior Groove had noticed the eggs wiggling in place, and the day before the shells had become thin enough, and the movements strong enough, for audible taps and clangs to be heard. Slingshot (always a poor recharger) had hours before frantically woken First Aid at the sign of a crack in one of the eggs, and now here they all were gathered, eagerly awaiting the moment they would meet the sparklings for the first time.

Silverbolt watched, awed, as the little flaw on the smallest of the eggs blossomed outward, fissuring around the side of the oblong shell. This was the first real progress to be seen – the sparkling would struggle valiantly for a few minutes, and then pause for longer before repeating. More wiggling in the egg, and the whole thing rolled about a bit before bumping into a sibling. First Aid reached in to rotate it so that the crack faced sideways rather than towards the floor.

A clang and a crack, and all of a sudden a little white fist was sticking out of the shell. The fingers flexed a moment, and then it was drawn back in, enlarging the new hole as it did so. Silverbolt impulsively reached out to entwine his fingers with Hot Spot's – he felt like his spark was going to explode out of his chest, and the room was deathly silent except for the movements of their children as everyone stilled their fans in hushed expectation.

The little one wiggled more, punching the hole larger with the other hand, and finally, thrashing, got its head and torso out into the open air. There was a moment of breathless awe from all the gestalt members, and then the little one screwed up its face and wailed its discontent, vents hacking.

First Aid scooped it up and ragged it off, and it quieted, though its face remained pinched in displeasure. The optics lit up, and suddenly First Aid found himself a very popular bot.

"It's a girl!" he announced proudly, after a quick medscan. "So, what are we naming her?"

###############

"Ok, we've got a horde of Autobots breaking down the doors waiting to be introduced to these guys – are we _sure_ we've gotten everything figured out?" Hot Spot looked up from his data pad at the loose circle of bots squeezed into the Aerialbots' quarters (he added getting a bigger space to his growing list of _things that need to get done yesterday_). A wave of nodding heads followed his gaze around the room.

"All right then, let's do this." He flicked his optics over to catch Silverbolt's gaze briefly, and then stomped out the door into the hanger, which was filled with a semi-hushed crowd of Autobots, their whispering growing to a fervor as the gestalts tromped out to meet them. Looking around at the gathered bots, Hot Spot stepped up onto the couch for a little more visibility.

"Quiet down, everybody." Immediate silence – who would want to get kicked out? "Well, uh, I guess I'll just get started. Where's, ah," First Aid tapped his hip, then handed up the oldest sparkling. Hot Shot hefted her up under her armpits, her helm flopped forward onto her chest and her limbs limp in recharge, letting the crowd get their first look.

"This here's the oldest, and her name is Cloudcutter. We think she's gonna be a helicopter like Blades. You can see she's real pretty," most of her plating a pearly white, "and she's got a real personality." He passed the sparkling back to First Aid and got fire-manned another.

"This is our littlest jet, and his name is Skysailor. We're not really sure who he takes after yet. Fireflight thought his little white proto-wings looked a little like sails, so, there you go."

"This is one of the, uh, 'twins' I guess you could say. He and his brother are about the same size and seem like they're gonna have real similar alts – you'll see him in a second. His name is Sunbreak," this got some chuckles from the audience, "cause he's usually pretty perky and cheerful."

"Here's the second twin, and I guess he's awake to see you all, too!" A chorus of awws and coos came from the audience at the bright optics flitting about, a lovely shade of cobalt. "His name is Moonclipper. We're pretty sure we know where he gets his looks from," more chuckles, as his color scheme was dark blues and charcoal greys. Among all the gestalt members, only Skydive boasted dark coloration like that.

"And finally, we have the late hatcher – his frame took longer to finish since he's the biggest. We guess he's gonna look something like his papa Silverbolt someday." The audience was quiet with the reverence with which Hot Spot presented the little jet. "We decided to name him Silverstar. They're, uh, glad to meet you." The fire engine finished off his introductions awkwardly.

Silence reigned momentarily as the Autobots digested, and then Optimus stepped forward with his servos out, requesting. Hot Spot passed Silverstar down into his large hands, the Prime tucking the little one close and tickling its faceplate. Optimus fairly beamed down at the cherubic face.

"I think I speak for all the Autobots when I say we are very, very glad to meet them too."

* * *

A/N: I think this is officially done! I probably won't do any more with this particular universe. Maybe definitely I don't know.

I'm pretty sure there aren't any transformers with the names of the sparklings – please don't knowingly steal them, as I spent some time dreaming them up! If you didn't notice, there are a couple themes running through them: a bit of a nautical theme (cutter and clipper are both types of sailboats, and sailor) and a bit of a celestial theme (cloud, sun, moon, and star). I actually considered using the name Moonraker, a type of sail, but remembered that it's _also_ a Bond movie. Yeah.

And hopefully this clears up the fact that yes, every member of the gestalt contributed a little to each of the little one's 'info', not just Hot Spot and Silverbolt, though they take after their creators in different degrees. No, the revelation that they are a bitty gestalt hasn't occurred yet, but you can imagine the appropriate reactions when a few decades down the line they instinctively combine the first time. I have no idea what the combiner's name will be.

If you have any questions that you want answered about the characters, the plot, this little universe or whatever, feel free to ask – I will answer if it's in my headspace, and perhaps make something up if it's not.


End file.
